


Sew Long, Fair Well

by Sanctified_Jasper



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (my Gamer AU isn't like other Gamer AUs: mine stars Sansa), Blood, Bullshit Ancient Deity, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack taken somehow seriously, DO NOT POST TO AN UNOFFICIAL APP, Do not post to another site, Do-Over, Embroidery, Formatting as a story telling aid, Gamer AU - Freeform, Gaslighting unsuspecting Maids by Accident, Intentional Murder, Now with more Shody Medical stuff, Ramsay is His Own Warning, SUICIDE AS MEANS OF HUMAN SACRIFICE FOR SHADY MAGICAL PURPOSES, Sansa-centric, Season 8 AU - alternate worse ending (aka: everyone dies, Sleep Deprivation, Theft, Time Travel, accidental murder, andif they haven't yet: they will, bullshit Gamer Gimmick, bullshit magic, in pig meat, kind of, mentions of medical procedures, specifically stitches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-03-10 02:30:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18929485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctified_Jasper/pseuds/Sanctified_Jasper
Summary: The death of the Night King didn't magically bring spring, and though the Dragon Queen has taken those that could walk South, those left behind are running out of food.Out of options, Sansa takes the advice of the Three Eyed Raven, and does something drastic to save what remains of her people.She doesn't expect to wake as a child in the Winterfell of her youth, but that might be an unrelated issue.





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa sat in a quiet corner of Winterfell, her head in her hands. Bran had told her that Jon and Arya had arrived at King's Landing several hours ago, that the battle for the capital was well underway.

He hadn't said anything else, but there had been the hint of pity in his new-and-ancient gaze.

In the aftermath of the Battle for Winterfell, in the aftermath of the Dragon Queen leaving, Sansa had done her best, but what she'd fear when Daenerys first arrived had come to pass.

There wasn't enough food.

The years of war, and the sheer number of their combined forces, the sheer appetite of the dragons, everything had put too large an impact in their reserves.

Her people were going to starve before the new crops could be grown to harvest, before the animals could breed and mature enough for culling, the glass gardens were still in ruins, and winter still upon them.

Spring hadn't magically come sweeping in when Arya had slain the Night King, the Long Night hadn't mystically given way to the spring dawn.

And when she asked of her half-brother ('cousin' her mind hissed, 'rightful heir to the throne, if he takes it you'll be safe') and her sister, Bran, or the being wearing his face, gave her a look of barely there pity, and silence.

She knows in her heart why.

What remains of Bran is trying to spare her.

Her siblings will not be returning North, there will be no supplies coming.

Taking a deep breath, she got up from the hidden corner, and made her way to her room to clean herself up, make herself presentable.

She didn't know what to do, but she knows who to ask.

Had finally realised _what_ to ask.

* * *

 

There were more people in the room than she was expecting when she entered, but Sansa found Bran right away, his chair by the head table.

He was waiting for her.

She knelt before him, though she'd secretly sworn to herself she would never kneel to anyone again.

“Lord Raven, you are ancient, and know many secrets-”

“ _ALL_ secrets,” her corrected.

“-all secrets,” she complied, “you know the state of the North, you know our chances of surviving the rest of winter.” She heard someone behind her make a noise of distress, she thought maybe they'd been hoping the numbers of the stock taking had simply been mistaken.

“Please,” she asked, “if you know of any way to save my people, please tell me how, please help me save my people.”

“What are you willing to give up for them?”

It was a test, Sansa knew, and thought of rough hands on her skin, thought of all she has lost, and all she had fought for with whatever she could. With words and looks, and favours and lies, with the blood of others and with her own.

“The last thing I have left to barter with,” Sansa told him, hoping it was enough, “the last thing I have which is rightly mine to give away.”

“My Lady,” she can tell by the tone of soldier behind her, that he didn't understand what she was offering. He sounded far to scandalised.

Bran, or the Three Eyed Raven, brought a hand from beneath his furs, and held out an obsidian dagger.

“Down through the crypts, until the tunnel turns into a cave. Down through the cave to the heart of the hot springs, where the waters of Winterfell are born. Until there's nothing left to give.”

“I understand,” Sansa told him as she took the dagger. “This will save my people?”

She had to be sure.

“Once you have finished your task,” he told her, “spring will return to Winterfell and the surrounding countryside. The crops will flourish faster than nature alone would allow, and the animals will become fertile. Your people will survive.”

“Thank you, and please,” she knew she had nothing left to bargain with, but perhaps what remained of Bran would listen, “please look after them?”

He made no reply but a faint bowing of his head.

She stood, and curtsied to him.

And left.

* * *

 

Before she'd entered the Crypts, she'd made sure everyone who needed to, understood the chain of command without her, she didn't want any fighting.

She took a torch and the dagger, wore a simple dress, and she walked.

And walked.

And tried not to look too closely at the bodies that still littered the tunnels.

The Crypts went winding through the earth, and it felt like forever before they stopped, and then forever before she came upon a great hot spring.

Bran had given no real description of the place, but she could feel it in her bones.

She shoved the torch into a crack in some rocks, knowing it wouldn't last much longer.

Not that she'd need it much longer.

Sansa lowered herself into the warm water, and took a moment to appreciate the heat. There was a stone ledge hidden beneath the water, she sat on it and let her head fall back onto the pool's stone edge. She tried to steel herself for the task ahead, but tears found their way from her eyes, and she lost a long time to crying before she managed to compose herself.

She took up the dagger, and prayed to any god that was listening. She prayed for this sacrifice to work, for her people to be saved.

She cried out, but carried on as best she could, she'd felt worse pain after all. More enduring pain.

As her sacrifice spilled into the water, she began to feel light headed. She caught herself falling asleep, trying to jerk herself awake even though she knew she what was going on.

In her mind, she could see a golden light flowing through Winterfell, spilling out into the surrounding lands. It was like watching a flower slowly blooming.

Sansa vaguely felt herself slip completely below the surface of the hot spring, but she didn't care, didn't fight it.

She wasn't sure if she was dreaming, or if she was truly witnessing a miracle, but these were her last moments, and Sansa chose hope.

* * *

 

 

 

She was in a not-place, drifting along.

 

There was no sound.

Then suddenly there was(n't).

“Well that was rubbish,” said a not-voice.  
“Terrible, absolute garbage, what a horrific mortality rate.  
Hmmm, you know that last part wouldn't have worked  
if you'd been anybody else? Oh no, not without all that  
lovely, in-turned wild-magic of yours, building up (and  
festering a little to be honest,) and still some traces left...  
OoOoOoooohhhh, I could do something rather naughty with those.  
Yes, I rather think I shall.  
What do you think **Sansa**?  
Shall we play a little game to pass the time?”

 

Sansa?

Yes, that was right, she was Sansa Stark of Winterfell  
And she was dead.  
Were the dead allowed to play games?

“I won't tell if you don't.”

 

Oh? A secret game? Sansa had learned to play those very well.  
Was it like the secret games she'd played before though?

“Some of it will be _very_ like that which you've played before.  
HeheheHAHAHA, oh, but this _will_ be **fun**!!!”

 

Fun? That sounded nice. Sansa missed nice things,  
like lemon cakes, and her family, and practising her sewing.  
It had been so long since she'd last embroidered anything...  
No, that wasn't right, there had been a wolf... for _Jon_.

“Embroidery and sewing huh?  
Well, that'll certainly be a new flavour for an old dish,  
hhhmmmmm, how to make that work though?  
How to make that work?  
…  
Oh well, I'll figure it out,  
let's get you on your way in the meantime shall we?”

 

On her way? But weren't they going to play a game?

Or was the game

S

 o

  m

    e

w

 h

  e

   r

    e

E

 l

  s

   e

    ?

 

* * *

 

Sansa jolted awake, feeling groggy and confused, her head felt stuffy, like a sheep or three had been shoved inside her skull. Her brain was too full.

A single hot tear dripped down her face as she pushed her hands against her head, trying to keep her skull together should the contents prove too much for her skull to contain.

Was death always this horrific, she wondered. Because if it was, she certainly didn't plan on dy...ing... again?

“Wait,” Sansa said to herself, looking around at her childhood room, “what?”

That was wrong, but for a moment, Sansa couldn't figure out why.

She _was_ a child.

She was a _woman grown_.

She'd never left Winterfell.

She'd been to King's Landing and the Eyrie, she'd even visited The Wall.

She was in love with the idea of love, and couldn't wait to be a wife and mother.

She was jaded, married twice, and revolted by the idea of sharing any man's bed.

She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell.

She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell.

A summer child.

She'd seen the Long Night.

She'd died for her people and now she was either in heaven, or she'd had a second wish granted.

She was home, and safe, and she had a chance to fix everything.

 

Sansa threw back her blankets and something clattered to the floor. Curious, she slid from the bed to look for it.

It was there in plain sight, an embroidery hoop with a piece of good quality cloth already secured, a shiny needle was pinned through one of the corners of the cloth that were sticking out the back. The hoop itself seemed to be made from a bone white wood.

If Sansa hadn't known any better, she would have said it was from a Weirwood tree.

Confused, for she'd _never_ owned something like this hoop, Sansa tentatively reached out and picked it up - “ow” - pricking herself on the needle as she did, even though she'd been careful. A single drop of blood landed on the cloth as she brought her 'wound' to her mouth to stop the bleeding.

The drop of blood spread across the cloth, leaving fine lines drawn on its surface. Before her eyes, the lines began fading away, until only a question mark remained.

“What?” Sansa asked the empty room, perhaps hoping that someone would jump out and explain what was going on. A little weirded out by the embroidery hoop, Sansa put it down on her desk and turned to get dressed.

The Hoop was on the ground before her.

Sansa looked back at her table, where the hoop was not.

She picked it up again, and put it back on the table.

She turned to dress, and the hoop was back on the ground before her. Huffing, Sansa picked it up again.

This time when she put it on her table she said, partly pleading, “at least let me get dressed before I deal with you.”

She stepped back, eyes on the hoop.

It stayed where it was.

She turned, but no hoop on the ground.

She let out a sigh of relief, hoping that by the time she'd dressed herself, the hoop would be gone, nothing more than a figment of her recent death induced trauma.

When Sansa was fit to be seen in public, the hoop was still there on her desk. With a disappointing sigh, she walked back over to it to investigate.

In all honesty, if Sansa hadn't been through what she'd just been through, she would have been freaking out over the hoop _far_ more.

The lines in the shape of the question mark were still there, and they reminded Sansa of the training lines she'd used when she'd first started learning to embroider. Sitting down, she pulled the needle from the fabric, startling slightly when she saw a thread attached to one end.

It had not been there a second before, she was certain.

There was only two inches of red thread, but with no other ideas on what to do, Sansa began stitching along the lines on the cloth.

She had tied off her starting end, but when she accidentally pulled a little to far, rather than pulling the knot, the thread lengthened. She tugged a bit more, and the thread lengthened more.

“Huh,” she said to herself, and went back to her work. When she was finished, she tied off the loose end, and the thread snapped, separating the excess from the knot just as she would have cut it herself.

She eyed the thread and needle for a long moment, before slipping the needle back through a fold of cloth in one of the corners.

The stitched question mark glowed.

Sansa was... less alarmed than she should have been. The glowing thread spread outwards to cover the cloth stretched within the hoop, and then faded to reveal a whole lot of words.

 

/              HELP               \  
/   I've made a deal with     \  
/ an Ancient God, and now I \  
|    don't know what to do!     |  
\  (Slide finger from right to /  
\       left to turn to next    /  
\              page)              /

 

'Oh,' Sansa thought, feeling a little faint, 'so that _was_ real.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A plot bunny attacked me and took over my body from 10:30pm last night, until almost 2:00am this morning (my time).  
> I don't know where this is going.  
> I'm so sorry internet...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa explores some mechanics.  
> This is literally the 'game guide' chapter, sorry.

Sansa had to put the hoop down after her realisation that she _had_ , in fact, spoken with some kind of God, but after a few minutes of freaking out, she decided to mentally steel herself as best she could.

After everything she had seen and done over the past several years, she reasoned that this _shouldn't_ be able to break her sanity.

She'd figure it out.

She had to.

Sansa picked up the hoop, and swiped her finger to the left across the taut fabric surface it held.

The words rippled, and new ones formed in their place. The new words felt like reading she was only part of an explanation, so Sansa swiped again, and again the words melted and reformed.

Sansa read through several 'pages' before the text stopped changing. The basics she gathered from the magical words seemed straight forward enough:

  * She _had_ met some kind of divine Being in the place after death.

  * She _had_ accidentally made an agreement to play a game with them... it? (She wasn't certain how to define ' _t_ _he Being'_.)

  * The hoop was her ' _Control Console_ ', selected by the Being to ensure things weren't _too_ easy for Sansa, and because Sansa had enjoyed embroidery once upon a time. (it would be good camouflage, no one would think it odd for her to be constantly carrying the hoop, or working on it.)

  * The purpose of the ' _Control Console_ ' was for Sansa to become more powerful, to create a more 'entertaining' ending for the Being to enjoy by giving Sansa the Abilities to change the stage of Westeros.

  * Sansa could gain Abilities by various means. Mostly, they'd involve embroidering on the ' _Control Console_ '. The lines she'd seen when her blood first stained the fabric were for the Basic Functions which were being given to her 'for free'. (If one didn't count her little blood sacrifice.)

  * She'd also been given one magical needle, the {Needle of Eternal Thread}, which came with {Basic Red Thread}, which meant she effectively had an endless supply of the thread she'd used to stitch the question mark. According to the notes she'd 'unlocked', there were enchanted needles and threads all around Westeros, waiting for her to find them. They'd have special properties, and unlock special abilities, but she could use normal needles and threads for things as well.




 

The last page talked about 'Quests' and 'Rewards'.

If Sansa completed specific tasks, the Being would grant her physical objects in return, to further help her along.

Case in point, when Sansa finished the 'Help' section and tried to swipe to the next page, all that came up was:

 

/   **CONGRATULATIONS!**    \  
/      You've finished the      \  
/      Help Guide! **Reward** :      \  
|  Control Console Fabric Pen  |  
\ for a little bit of speed, you /  
\   can use this pen to Fast  /  
\     Search the Console.   /

 

Sansa frowned, brow furrowing. She tilted the hoop slightly, and a noise, like the jangle of a fine chain reached her ears. She tilted the hoop more, and though she'd swear before _every_ God that there had been no such adornments before, a small fine chain tethered the Control Console to a white wooden stick.

The stick was perfectly smooth but for the chain which bit into one tip, and a seam not far along.

She put the hoop down on her lap so it wouldn't fall off while she examined the stick with both hands.

Given the final message, she suspected this had to be the 'Control Console Fabric Pen'. She tried pulling gently at the two parts, but nothing happened, so she tried twisting, first one way, than the other. The halves gave way, moving apart slightly, but when she tried to swap to pulling, the two pieces remained joined.

Sansa went back to spinning the pieces, and it only took a few rotations before they parted, like pulling a sword from its sheath. She could see clearly, now that she had the pieces free of each other, that there were grooves just inside the sheath, and matching embellishments on the other piece.

The embellished piece also had a lightly coloured tip which had been hidden. It was a lot like the fine charcoal pencils she'd used to create designs on fabric when she'd first started.

She picked the hoop back up, and touched the 'pen' to the fabric, the words from the 'Help Guide' having vanished.

The pen left a trace of pale pink on the cloth.

'Use it to Fast Search,' the Console had said.

With no better ideas, Sansa wrote ' _Fast_ _Search_ ' on the cloth.

 

/          **Fast Search** \  
/    To save time looking,    \  
/    the Fast Search function   \  
| allows you to write out your  |  
\ queries, rather than sewing /  
\     it can also be used to    /  
\           call functions.       /

 

Sansa tried swiping to the next page.

 

/       **ACHIEVEMENT!** \  
/      _My First Fast Search_ \  
/  **R** **eward** : Basic Blue Thread.\  
|   Needle of Eternal Thread   |  
\    **Upgraded**. This Needle'   /  
\    can now be  **Equipped** /  
\    with a new Thread.   /

 

“Huh,” Sansa reached down to pull the needle from the excess cloth, and the thread was indeed blue. She thought of the red thread, wondering if she'd lost it forever. With a thoughtful hum, Sansa tried putting the needle back, and pulling it out while think of the original red thread.

It worked. She tried a few more times, and determined that she had to think of the colour she wanted, or it would just be which ever colour had been the last used, and she had to pin the needle back in the cloth or it wouldn't change.

But now she had a few new terms to figure out, so it was time to test out the 'Fast Search' and it's full capabilities.

“ _How do I Equip things_ ” gave her an explanation of what she'd just figured out.

“ _What are Achievements_ ” revealed that 'Achievements' were 'like surprise quests,' and that she'd be rewarded for doing things, or doing them a number of times, but she wouldn't be told before she'd done them.

“ _What are Functions_ ” gave her a variation of what the Help Guide had said, the hoop would do things that would make things easier for her, and more entertaining for the Being. Her only available Function was the Help Guide and the Fast Search.

It also revealed she could assign Functions (that weren't the Fast Search) to the hoop as a fast summons. Simplified versions of the patterns denoting each Function would be etched into the outside of the hoop's surface, and bringing them up on the main surface of the Console would be as simple as touching the right symbol with intent.

Of course, to unlock Functions to assign them to the hoop, she had to complete the patterns that symbolised them, as she had completed the question mark, embroidering the lines.

Sansa was just about to touch her pen to the Console when a knock came at her door, and it opened to reveal her Septa, Mordane.

“Oh good, you _are_ awake.” Septa Mordane stepped more fully into the room, “you are late for your lessons young lady.”

Sansa stared at the woman, her grey robes and carefully pinned head wrap, her old familiar face. It felt so long since she'd seen the woman filled with life. Guilt for what had happened to her hit Sansa so hard, it felt like the wind had been knocked from her.

She shoved the Console and pen onto her table and dashed to the Septa.

“I'm sorry,” Sansa said as she wrapped her arms around the startled woman, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Her cries became sobs as tears spilled from Sansa's eyes.

She'd been so focused on figuring out what was going on with the Console, she'd managed to not think about how many people she knew, had seen die, were once again alive, untouched by the wars, by Sansa's foolish and naïve mistakes.

By the cruelty of the corruption in the ruling bodies of Westeros.

“Shhh,” Mordane said as she soothed her hands over Sansa's hair and shoulders and upper back. “Shhh, my lady, it's alright, it's not as bad as all that. I was just a little worried you might have been ill, no need to worry about a single late lesson, shhhh.”

* * *

“Septa Mordane?” Sansa spoke softly as they walked towards the sewing room.

“Yes my dear?” Mordane had managed to calm her down, though it had taken some time, and however late Sansa had been for her lessons, she was even later now, yet Septa Mordane did not hurry them along. “I was just... I'm sorry, for crying on you like that.”

Septa Mordane smiled, “it's alright my lady, these things happen. Would you like to tell me what upset you so much though? It seems like it might have been more than missed lessons.”

“I was dreaming, a bad dream, and it followed me into waking.”

“It must have been _very_ bad,” Mordane said. Older and more learned that she appeared, Sansa was able to see the manipulation behind the statement.

As a child she would have thought it a simple statement, a slight agreement and a kind shoulder to cry on.

And it was, but Septa Mordane was also trying to get Sansa to reveal her secrets. It was a benign thing, done in care and compassion for what Mordane perceive to be an upset child.

But Sansa was no longer a child in anything but body, and she'd been manipulated enough by people with her 'best intentions' at heart.

“They put your head on a spike, on the walls. I saw it when the blonde boy took me to make me look at father's head. I wanted to push him off the walkway for killing everyone, but the big scarred man stopped me.”

Septa Mordane looked horrified.

“The blonde boy was wearing a crown, but he didn't seem very princely.” Sansa looked at Mordane, remembering the sight of her on Traitor's Walk. Sansa shook her head, trying to shake the image away.

“Oh, my sweet child,” Septa Mordane sounded horrified, “what an awful dream. Your father and I are both fine, and nothing is going to happen to us. Certainly nothing like that, so you put that out of your mind, and we'll focus on sewing.”

“Alright,”Sansa nodded, and followed along to the sewing room.

* * *

Arya wasn't there when Sansa and Septa Mordane survived, but Jeyne Pool was. Poor Jeyne, Sansa had missed her friend terribly over the years, in the quiet moments when she had nothing to do but think of all she'd lost.

After King's Landing, Jeyne had vanished, and Sansa's only clue her friend had lived, was that Joffrey had never shown her Jeyne's head.

Theon had told her, near the end.

Someone had tried to sell Jeyne to the Boltons, as Sansa had been sold. They'd tried to claim Jeyne as Arya, but the remaining Winterfell folk had known. They just hadn't known that revealing Jeyne's true identity, would mean stripping her of her usefulness to the Boltons.

People didn't tend to _outlive_ their usefulness around the Boltons.

“Are you alright Sansa? You look rather pale.” Jeyne made a quiet 'oh' when Sansa hugged her.

“I'm alright, I just had a rather terrible dream.”

Septa Mordane let the two girls hug far longer than she normally might have, and the duo didn't separate until Sansa was ready.

“You're really alright?” Jeyne asked, and Sansa nodded.

“I'm really alright.”

Relieved, Jeyne began sharing all the latest gossip with Sansa as they begun their embroidery, Beth Cassel occasionally chiming in.

Nobody noticed that Sansa had pulled out a white wooden embroidery hoop with a short fine chain and a stick attached.

* * *

Sansa didn't want to risk drawing attention to her Console, so she left her investigation of it for later, instead, she stitched the grey wolf head sigil of house stark into its surface.

Septa Mordane complemented her on her work, and Sansa glowed at the honest praise. She'd forgotten how nice it felt to be commended for such a basic task.

Sansa finished the picture just before they broke for lunch, and as the other girls were packing up, Sansa noticed a word had appeared beneath her work.

 

\          Submit?         /  
\                            /

 

Eyes darting about, Sansa decided to risk it, twirling her pen free and writing ' _Yes_ ' in the space just below the word. The Sigil disappeared into the Console's cloth surface just like the other threads had.

 

/          Sigil Submitted:        \  
/             House Stark.            \  
/           You may now see         \  
|         your Standing with:         |  
\    House Stark of Winterfell.   /  
\   Standing can be found in: /  
\                  ~*~                 /

 

There was a small symbol down the bottom, and Sansa did her best to memorise it for later.

“Sansa? Are you coming?” Jeyne asked from her place by the door.

“Oh, yes,” Sansa hurried to finish packing her embroidery kit, “just a moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to cut out as much as I could while still explaining how I wanted the Game System to work.  
> I myself don't like reading over the 'how to play' section of Gamer fics, because it's usually overly obvious that readers either know from playing actual games, or can figure out by reading. I can't cut the whole thing out, especially since I'm attempting to use such an unusual medium for the Control Console.  
> Hopefully this middle ground worked, but let me know if it didn't. Or if there's a mechanic or presentation of a mechanic that you hate or love (like how I shudder at the sight of page long stat updates at the end of every chapter).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa investigates the mechanics a little further, and makes another accidental deal.  
> (mechanics heavy again, this should be the majority of the basics out of the way though.)

Sansa almost physically _itched_ to look into the new information available on her Console, but after lunch were non-embroidery lessons, so she had no ready excuse for embroidering or 'messing about' with an embroidery hoop.

Instead, she applied herself to the lessons. Household management had always been a weak point of hers, as a child she'd struggled with numbers and figures and sums.

Perhaps it was the years of experience, perhaps it was having seen the words on paper as real people, perhaps the Being had just made her better, what ever the case, she found the lessons far easier than she remembered.

The people around her felt strange though, strangers in once familiar faces.

Sansa knew it was her who'd changed, not them, and she felt she finally understood the almost-but-not-quite look of pity behind Old Nan's eyes when the old woman called them all 'Summer Children'.

Even most of the adults.

* * *

Sansa begged off early after dinner, and locked herself in her room, away from prying eyes. She had to figure out this power that had been given to her, it was her best chance to save everyone.

Sitting by the fire light, Sansa took up the hoop once more. As she reached for the Pen to try and call up the available patterns, Sansa noticed a dot at what was effectively the 'bottom' of the console's surface.

She poked at it, but nothing happened, so she tried one of the only other interactions she knew to work, and slid her finger across the surface.

 

/           **Achievement**!           \  
/                                                 \  
/               First Free Hand              \  
/              Pattern Submitted              \  
|       **Reward** : Basic Yellow Thread       |  
|          Needle of Eternal Thread         |  
\                    **Upgraded**.                    /  
\                 This Needle                 /  
\       can now be Equipped        /  
\           a new Thread.          /

 

'Yellow?' Sansa thought, 'how many colours of basic thread are there?' She freed her Pen and brought it to the Console's surface while she made a mental note: 'dot's down the bottom mean 'pages' to be read.'

“How many Basic Threads are there?” she wrote. It turned out there were eleven.

“How do I obtain the Basic Threads?” Sansa frowned sternly when the reply was simply 'By completing the required tasks.'

She tried again, a little more... specific.

“What are the requirements to obtain the Basic Threads?”

A list appeared, colours first, followed by tasks.

{Red – Default Thread}, as well as the entries for Blue and Yellow were all struck through, a neat line crossing them out. It made sense when she realised those were the three she already had.

At the very bottom of the list, where the eleventh Basic Thread should have been, was a trio of small question marks. The majority of the remaining threads required unlocking things, the {Basic Grey Thread} though, needed her to 'create a Quest'.

She didn't really know what that meant, or how to do it. For a moment, Sansa considered finding paper and a quill to write the requirements down, but then thought better of it. If her notes were to be discovered, it might raise questions she wasn't sure she wanted to even try answering.

Putting Pen to Console she tried: “is there anyway to save this information so it is easily available to me?”

 

/ Would you like to: \  
/                                \  
/        Create Note?       \  
|        Create Quest?       |  
\   Add information to  /  
\          Hot Bar?         /  
\                            /

 

'Create Quest!' Sansa gave a mental cheer, 'now how do I... ' Shrugging, Sansa tried circling the option she wanted, figuring that if it didn't work, she could try a direct command with the Pen.

 

/     Quest Created!     \  
/                                    \  
/  Basic Thread Collection \  
|   Quest is now available   |  
\ full details can be found /  
\     in the Quest Book    /  
\              ~*~              /

 

A small symbol, different from the one for 'Standing' was down the bottom. Sansa swiped across the Console and sure enough: she'd earned the {Basic Grey Thread}.

* * *

 

Sansa spent the evening summoning the different patterns and filling them in. It was quite late when she'd finished, and she was thankful there wasn't much in the way of information in the things she 'Unlocked'.

She 'Unlocked' Quests first, so she could double check the Threads and earn the {Basic Black Thread}. She didn't see any quests other than her Thread Quest in the 'Book' though.  
Next, she unlocked Standing, which didn't tell her very much that she didn't already know about the way her family felt about her. She did discover however, that House Stark of Winterfell included the household of Winterfell as well. (And it gave her {Basic Orange Thread}.)

The next few patterns were ones she didn't have any idea about, not having stumbled upon their meaning as she had with the Standing and Quest Functions.

There was one that looked vaguely like a goblet with handles on the side, it Unlocked her Achievements List and awarded her with the {Basic Purple Thread} for doing so.

That left her with two available Patterns. One looked like a tree stripped of all its leaves; the other looked like the outline of a silhouette that _might_ belong to a human.

After consulting the requirements in her Basic Thread Collection Quest, she thought they _might_ be the two Functions known as 'Character Sheet' and 'Ability Trees'.

Sansa tried the silhouette first, reasoning that the symbol that looked like a tree, might belong to the Ability _Trees_ Function, and that had two potential Threads attached.

The Character Sheet Function activated, and Sansa frowned. The words of the page weren't centred over the middle as she'd become accustomed to, but rather, they were squished to the right side of the Console.

 

/                                Sansa Stark \  
/                        Epithet: The Gamer \  
/                    A Time Travelling Queen \  
/                        Who made a Deal with a \  
|                       Being of Unknown Origin. |  
|                   As part of the Deal, she was |  
\                  granted Powers to help her /  
\                  in her efforts to save her /  
\                       Family and people. /  
\                        ..                       /

 

Sansa's brow scrunched as she read and re-read the words, letting out a quiet 'oh' when she noticed the dots at the bottom of the 'page'. She swiped across and the words changed. Symbols in (mostly) bright green, and new words that didn't make much sense to her.

A pitcher followed by 'Hydrated'  
What looked like the cooked drumstick of a bird – 'Satiated'  
A knife with a drop from it's blade – 'Uninjured'  
A potion bottle, like she'd seen Maester's use – 'Unpoisoned'  
A... she wasn't even sure what the next two were supposed to be, but both read 'Uninfected'  
The last symbol, she thought might have been a stylised sun – 'Tired'

The sun was also the only one that wasn't in the bright green, but rather a yellow that looked like it might have been turning orange.

She was _incredibly_ tired now that she thought about it.

She swiped to the next page, which was her reward notice for the {Basic Green Thread}.

She had only the 'tree' pattern left, but she was very tired, and the Console would... _probably_ still be there in the morning.

And the fire in her room was burning _very_ low.

…

She'd have to be quick, she decided, frantically stitching along the lines.

The Ability Trees Function Unlocked, but her 'Trees' were not only empty, there weren't any to see.

Interestingly, the next page she swiped to was _not_ her reward notice, but a warning.

 

/           Warning!           \  
/      Gamer is reaching     \  
/  unsafe levels of Stamina  \  
|  Depletion. Gamer is close |  
\  to incurring the Stamina /  
\ Side Effect: Exhaustion. /  
\       Sleep Advised.      /

 

Sansa let out a quiet 'huh', and swiped to the next page which was her reward notice for {Basic White Thread}. Grabbing her Pen, she quickly scrawled “Assign all Functions Unlocked today to the Quick Summons Bar.” She didn't pay any attention to pretty penmanship, and waited only long enough to make sure the etched sigils appeared on the hoops rim, and notice 'notice' indicating dot appear at the 'bottom' of the page.

She'd investigate in the morning.

Moments later, all the candles were out, the Console was sitting pride of place on her desk, and Sansa was dead to the world, lost in a deep slumber.

* * *

 

There was no nightmare-memory-dump to jerk her into frightful waking on Sansa's second day in the past.

Instead she drifted slowly out of the land of dreams and into wakefulness.

Until a maid entered and finished the slow trip with a quick jolt of surprise.

“Good morning my lady, already awake?” The maid asked, cheerful. It took Sansa a few long seconds to place her.

“Yes Ethel, good morning,” Sansa gave her the best smile she could muster so early, and slid out of bed.

As she saw to her morning ablutions, Sansa wondered about the lack of maids the day before.

'Perhaps the Being had something to do with it,' she mused to herself.

* * *

 

Dressed, ready for the day and, judging by the light of the sun outside, with a little bit of time to spare before breakfast, Sansa sat down to investigate her Console some more.

She checked the notice first, and discovered (based on the reward notice which she double checked against the quest), that the eleventh Basic Thread, was something called {Clear Thread} and had been earned by assigning her first Function to the Quick Summons Bar.

A quick look at the Thread in question revealed it to be a 'thread' made of a substance that was clear like the glass from the glass gardens, but thin and supple like a strand of hair. When she wound it a few times, the tiny bunch she made looked almost white.

She wasn't sure what to make of it.

Setting that aside for the time being, she brought her Pen to bare, and carefully wrote out the most important question she had: “How do I acquire a new Ability?”

There were technically three ways to 'Craft' an Ability, according to the Console.

  1. The Ability could be granted at random by the whim of the Being.

  2. Sansa could create a generic picture, and if it didn't have a specific primary use (like house sigils), a random Ability or Attribute would be derived from it.

  3. Or, the hardest option, Sansa could create a picture depicting the Ability she wanted, as best she could.




Reading further into it, Sansa realised that Abilities could be anything, some of them could even be what most people would consider _spells_.

A rooster crowed somewhere in Winterfell, and Sansa looked up to see the sun was brighter over the land. Setting aside her Console for the time being – she really needed something to carry it in – she headed to the hall for breakfast.

* * *

 

Arya stabbed at her embroidery more than stitched, a scowl heavy on her face. It was clear she didn't want to be in the room with Sansa and the other girls, and she certainly didn't want to be doing embroidery.

Sansa waited until Beth and Jeyne were distracted with quiet gossip before she moved to Arya's side.

“What do you want?” Arya asked, looking at Sansa with suspicion.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” Sansa tried for a gentle smile, though Arya's eyes narrowed at her in response.

“Why, so you can show me how much better you are at everything than me?” Arya's eyes darted to the half finished Tully fish on Sansa's cloth.

Sansa thought quickly, though she didn't miss the frightful steel of future-Arya's presence, she did miss how close they had become, how they had finally manged to put their differences aside.

“Actually, I was hoping to make a deal with you,” Sansa blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“What kind of deal?”

'Yes Sansa,' the time traveller thought to herself, 'what deal?'

Septa Mordane looked over to the sisters, and Sansa gave her a beatific smile, before turning back to Arya.

“If I can find a way to make embroidery more fun for you, help you with your stitches so Septa Mordane stops giving you so much grief over them...” Arya looked almost intrigued at Sansa's words, but mostly like she just wanted Sansa to get it over with so she'd leave Arya alone.

Sansa mentally flailed for anything Arya might be able to teach her.

“And, if I can teach you,” Sansa said at last, “would you,” she darted her gaze around before leaning close and dropping her voice, “teach me how to hit the target with a bow and arrow?”

Arya looked at her older sister blankly for almost a full minute before scoffing, then chuckling, then out right laughing.

She only sobered up when Septa Mordane began making her way over.

“Sorry Septa, my fault, we'll behave ourselves,” Sansa gave her a sweet smile, and Septa Mordane gave them _both_ a disapproving look, but moved back to helping one of the other girls.

“Are you _serious_?” Arya hissed quietly, looking at her sister in confusion, “you hate that sort of thing, why would you even... why not get one of the boys to teach you?”

“I had a terrible dream the night before last, and in it,” Sansa thought how to best explain, “Winter Came. Not just to Westeros, Winter Came for House Stark, we were all each other had near the end. And I know it may seem silly to fear a mere dream, but it made me realise I've been a terrible sister, to you and Jon, and even Robb and Bran and Rickon.”

Arya looked a little unsure, but she nodded, just once.

Then she huffed like she wanted to laugh again, though Sansa could see something in her eyes.

“Alright Sansa, if you can find something to make _this_ fun, I'll teach you archery.”

The sisters both nodded once in agreement, and then went back to their embroidery. Sansa waited almost a minute before she gestured to Arya's hoop, where the younger girl was once again stabbing the fabric.

“Would you like me to start now?” Arya's glare held less heat then it once would have, but Sansa ducked her head in submission nonetheless, trying to disguise her small snort of amusement.

It slipped out, but rather than get angry, Arya answered with a light huff of her own.

Sansa looked up just in time to meet Arya's eyes, and the sisters had to quickly turn back to their needle-work, lest they set each other off in fits of laughter, relief spreading warmly through both their forms.

* * *

 

It had been years since Arya held a hope that she might be friends with her perfect, beautiful older sister, Sansa who was good at everything Arya wasn't, who was meant to be a _perfect lady_.

But Sansa had come to _her_ , had asked _her_ to teach her something.

Oh sure, Sansa had framed it as an exchange, as a 'deal', but she'd still come to _Arya_ , when she could have gotten _anyone_ in Winterfell to teach her.

For the first time in years, Arya let the hope flicker back into being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, if you've checked out my other work, you may notice I have an intense need for female friendships and sisterhood.  
> Also, you might have noticed Sansa's Character sheet didn't have levels or XP.  
> This is on purpose, because I think I know why so many Gamer Fics get dropped: way too much maths. (For those of you who don't know what a traditional Gamer Fic looks like, I have actually got a one chapter Sailor Moon Gamer Fic "Game Bunny", which you are welcome to check out, it looks a lot closer to the 'traditional' Gamer Fics.)  
> Also, please don't @me over Arya's 'OOC'ness, I promise it's a canon to the books insecurity Arya had at the start of the series.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Arya go out for the day, Sansa finishes her Basic Thread Collection, and Maester Luwin passes on a request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat? Things are happening? Yep, but there's more embroidery, please enjoy my skimming of a Satin Stitch tutorial. (I did actual research... I watched a lot of YouTube tutorials by real Embroiderers for this.)

'Fun for Arya,' Sansa thought as she dined in the main hall, 'fun for _Arya_...'

Sansa turned the problem over and over in her mind, trying to find a way to make embroidery any kind of _fun_ for her sister. She was so focused on trying to find a way, that she'd paid little attention to her physical actions, her fork scraping an empty plate and bringing nothing to her mouth twice before she realised.

A gentle chuckle drew her attention back to the present, and she saw her father's amused face as he watched her.

“What has you so distracted?” He asked her, clearly trying not to laugh at her actions outright.

Sansa felt heat bloom in her cheeks and she placed her fork down, wiping at her mouth to make sure she at least hadn't gotten food all over herself. She hadn't.

“Actually father, I was wondering,” Sansa thought quickly, considering what activities Arya _did_ like, and how she could use them to make embroidery more _fun_. “Tomorrow, might Arya and I be excused from our lessons with Septa Mordane?”

“What ever for?” her mother asked, brows furrowing.

“I thought that perhaps we could go riding and do our embroidery afield, I've felt uninspired with my embroidery as of late, and perhaps some wild flowers would be a just what I need. And of course, I would be seeing to Arya's lessons while we were out, perhaps the change of scenery and instructor will help her as well?”

She glanced at Arya who seemed confused for a moment, but, in the face of lessons with Mordane versus riding with her sister:

“That does sound like a good plan to me,” Arya said, nodding emphatically. “Very helpful,” she tacked on, “and... scenic.”

While their siblings looked amused, their parents looked suspicious, but in the end, could find nothing truly objectionable about the idea.

“Alright,” their father said with a small smile, “you'll be excused from lessons for the morning, and I'll have some guards escort you out, but you aren't to go too far.”

“Of course father,” Sansa said, echoed by Arya.

* * *

 

To ensure they had as much time to work as possible, Sansa, Arya and their handful of guards readied their horses at dawn. As Sansa swung up onto her horse, a tendril of cold air slipped up under her skirts and undergarments, managing to get past the bloomers she wore beneath.

She shivered slightly and thought of Missandei, the hand maiden of the dragon queen (or something like that, Sansa hadn't really gotten a full grasp of their relationship if she was being honest,) more specifically, she thought of the foreign woman's trousers, the ones which appeared to be a skirt until she stepped a little too wide and the division of the fabric became apparent.

“That's what I need,” Sansa said to herself as she sorted her skirts to keep the morning cold off her legs.

“My lady?” Jory Cassel asked from nearby where he was giving his mean a last minute talking to.

Sansa smiled sheepishly, “sorry Jory, just thinking aloud of a dress I would like to sew.”

He gave her a nod and let the matter drop. Moments later he was waving them off as the small 'expedition' cantered through the gates and off into the country side.

* * *

 

By the time the group found a nice patch of flowers, they were far enough from Winterfell that it was a small smudge on the horizon, and the sun was well and truly in the sky. As Sansa led the group to the flower patch, Arya groaned.

“We're not _really_ going to do _embroidery_ are we?”

“We are,” Sansa said, “but I'm only going to make you do a single flower, we're going to start with a basic 'filling' stitch,” she caught Arya and the men making confused faces, “today we're going to practice a satin stitch.” The confusion didn't waver. “A simple, looping, back and forth stitch?” she tried, but the confusion only lessened, it didn't dissipate entirely.

Sansa hid a laugh, “I'll show you in a moment, first we have to pick a flower with nice, _simple_ petals.” Then she looked at Arya and thought better, “or we could start with a leaf, which ever you prefer, as long as you finish _one_ 'segment' with satin stitch, we can go back and say 'progress was made'.”

“A... leaf sounds... good?” Arya said slowly, in a tone that let Sansa know she thought no version of embroidery was any kind of good. Sansa nodded in acceptance of the decision and they began looking for a good leaf to use as a template. They managed to locate one quickly, a nice green with a basic pinched-at-the-ends-oval shape.

The men with them were kind enough to set out one of the blankets Sansa had brought to protect their clothes from the dirt and damp of the ground. While the girls settled down with their embroidery kits, the men began patrolling the area, never going far enough that they would be out of sight of the sisters.

Sansa used her Fabric Pen to draw the leaf onto the cloth stretched across their embroidery hoops, but she had to snatch her Console away when Arya made a grab for it.

“Where'd you get that?” Arya asked, eyeing the white wood of the hoop, and the dangling pen lid.

“It was a _gift_ ,” Sansa said, putting the hoop down out of reach of her sister, and drawing a second _smaller_ leaf on Arya's fabric.

“From _who?_ ” Arya might not have been very interested in embroidery, but even she knew the hoop Sansa was using was... unusual.

“From the Gods,” Sansa said after only a few seconds hesitation, “I've been named the new patron of embroidery, and so they have gifted this to me so that I may go forth, and embroider.” Sansa made sure to deliver the explanation with all the jarring vocal changes of a bad actor, then she posed, looking off into the distance while she slowly raised her Console in a mockery of all the 'dashing hero' paintings she'd seen at King's Landing. Forgetting until it was too late, that Arya wouldn't remember doing the exact same thing a year from now. (In a future Sansa hoped to avoid.)

Arya chuckled anyway, “who _are_ you? And what have you done with my lady sister?” Despite her words, Arya didn't seem concerned with the idea Sansa had been replaced.

Sansa's breath caught in her throat, and she threw caution to the wind.

“I _am_ your sister, I'm just, Sansa-from-several-years-in-the-future, and I happen to be trapped in the body of my younger self.”She tried to be as matter-of-fact as she could about it, but the meer words themselves turned what she said into a joke.

“Wow,” Arya said, clearly not believing her, “the future must be bad to make you so...” she gestured at Sansa in a general way, trying to figure out how to word the clear change her sister had undergone.

“Oh, absolutely horrific,” Sansa said in a nonchalant tone, trying to rebury the truth as a joke, “White Walkers to the north, a mad queen with _dragons_ from the east, and every man with a bloodline vying for the crown to the south, only to be killed off by an entirely different mad queen, none of whom liked _us_ very much.” Sansa sighed as Arya tried to absorb the story, “I'm just sorry it took all that for me to realise what a naïve _brat_ I was. You deserved a better sister, and so did Jon, but I'm going to try, from here-on-out, I'm going to try to be better. Our family is the most important thing...”

Sansa tailed off, realising she'd lost the joking tone. Arya was looking at her in wonder, unsure, the younger girl licked her lips tentatively.

“The pack survives,” she offered, and Sansa nodded, echoing the words.

“The pack survives,” they sat in silence for a long moment, before Sansa remembered what they'd come out here for. “Now, you can use either the big leaf or the small leaf, we'll only be doing one side for now though.”

Arya groaned and accepted her embroidery hoop.

“We'll just practice the motion of the stitch for now, so you can use a full thread if you like, the results will be a little bumpy, but if you only use one strand, we'll be here far longer than you can stand.” Sansa quickly measured the threads, snipping and slipping them through the needle's eye for Arya. So that her sister could see that it wasn't skill, but thread size which would give her a lumpy satin stitch, Sansa also used a full thread, rather than just one strand.

Sansa used a normal needle and thread, since using the {Basic Green Thread} and the needle that came with her Console would likely remove any doubt of the Console's mystical origins.

“Alright,” she said once they were both ready to begin, “now, we're only doing one side of the leaf for now,” and she used the tip of her needle to trace around one side of the leaf's edge, and down along the central vein she'd added in that divided the whole leaf in half, showing her sister exactly what she meant by half.

“What's this line for?” Arya asked, pointing to the shallow V shaped line Sansa had drawn, connecting the two edges together with the central vein of the leaf.

“The thread is going to go at an angle, that line is our starting reference,” Sansa held up her Console so that Arya could see her use the light to position the shadow of her finger by the point where the V intersected the central line. She lowered the Console slightly, angling so Arya had a good view as Sansa slid the needle tip around the edge of her fingernail, poking the fabric slightly until she found the exact place she wanted it to come through. She pulled the thread 'up' through the front until the knot caught on the back, and released the tension before putting everything in her lap so she could supervise Arya's start.

She didn't need to explain each step to Arya as the younger girl found her starting point on the smaller of the two leaf outlines, and she didn't praise her out loud when she pulled the thread through, stopping when she felt resistance as Sansa had, rather than pulling until the fabric bulged under the strain. Sansa didn't want her sister to think she was condescending her, instead, Sansa gave her a pleased smile and an approving nod before moving on to the stitch, explaining that the 'down' stitch needed to be _just_ on the outside of the outline she'd drawn to hide it from view when finished.

Arya watched with an intensity Sansa had never seen her sister give to the art of embroidery, and copied the stitch onto her own cloth. Sansa watched as she pulled the thread down, stopping while it was still a little loose. Sansa held out her own stitch and pulled and loosened the thread, showing Arya as she spoke how to judge what was too loose, and what was too tight.

The younger girl nodded and pulled her thread a little tighter, fussing at it until she thought she had it right, and showed Sansa who said 'perfect' and moved on to the next step.

* * *

 

By the time Arya had finished her half a leaf, Sansa had finished the whole thing. Arya scowled, but noticed Sansa's thread was just as 'bubbly' looking as Arya's.

“It's because of the thread,” Sansa said when Arya mentioned it. She took the end of her thread and untwisted it just enough to show Arya the individual strands that made up the thread, pinching them in two placed to show Arya the difference between the strands side by side, compared to the thread side by side. “You aren't that bad at embroidery, I think you might have just missed a few of the basics while wishing you were elsewhere. So, how about tomorrow, we come back out and do the other side of the leaf, with a few less strands? It will take longer, but we could make it a two day project.”

Arya grinned, something she never thought she'd do at the thought of embroidery, but being out in the fresh air and sunshine, without Beth and Jeyne and Septa Mordane, with Sansa's attention all to herself... well, it hadn't been the worst thing ever. And Sansa had said she'd done well.

She'd have to remember to be nice when she taught Sansa how to shoot a bow.

* * *

 

Back in Winterfell, Catelyn Stark was surprised when they came back in good standing with one another, rather than at each other's throat as she'd feared. She was even more surprised when Sansa praised Arya's work, though not quite gushing over Arya's half leaf, Sansa was certainly proud of her sister's efforts.

Cat was so caught off guard by Sansa's glowing report, that she agreed to let the girls go out the next day as well, before she'd even realised what her daughters were asking.

Later, when she told her husband, he laughed at her, pulled her close and kissed the pout from her lips, reminding her that their daughters getting along could only be a good thing.

* * *

 

“Maester Luwin!” The old Maester turned at the sound of her voice, and waited for Sansa to catch up with him.

“Sansa, what can I do for you?” Luwin asked as she came close.

Sansa had sought the maester out for two reasons. The first had come after she'd returned to Winterfell and shown her mother the embroidered leaf she'd used to teach Arya. Once 'submitted' like her house sigils, she'd earned several things.

The first - and reason for finding maester Luwin - was an Ability called {Botanist}. This in turn had earned her the {Basic Brown Thread} which had completed the Basic Thread Collection Quest, which had rewarded her with something called {Empty Thread}, something she would investigate later.

For now though:

“Arya and I were out riding earlier, and we were planning to embroider some flowers, and I was wondering, if there is one, might I borrow a book on flowers?” Sansa asked hopefully, “I just thought it might be nice if we could name the flowers we make.”

“Certainly,” Luwin smiled, and directed her to follow him to the library. As they walked, Sansa tried to figure out how to bring up the second reason she'd sought Luwin out. She opened her mouth to begin a few times, but thought better of the words or phrasing, and stayed silent.

“My dear girl,” Luwin said after a while, “I assure you, what ever question you have, I've likely heard stranger.” He gave her a knowing look, “I've heard you've been having trouble sleeping recently, would this be related?”

“Nightmare,” Sansa said quietly, then a little strongly, “I had a nightmare. It felt like it went on for years and... I saw horrible things, people dying, and I could do nothing to help them. I was wondering... would you, would you teach me to sew and treat wounds?”

Luwin stopped, startled. Whatever he thought she was going to ask, it hadn't been that.

“My lady,” he began, pausing at the sight of Sansa's face, frightened and hopeful. “It would not be pleasant, and it is not the subject for a lady...” the silent pleading on her face intensified, and maester Luwin wavered. “Very well, but only if you're certain, I'll talk to your father and mother about adding it to your lessons.”

“ _Thank you_ maester Luwin,” she stepped forwards and hugged the old man, “ _thank you_!”

“I can only promise to ask, I can't make them say 'yes'." Sansa nodded against his robes as she tightened her grip momentarily. "Now, were you truly after that book, or was that a mere ruse?” He was smiling when she let him go, and she confirmed that she was still after the book.

{Botanist}, as described by the Console, was an ability that would automatically identify any plant she submitted to the Console. Submitted plants could be found later in the new Field Journal sub-heading 'Plant Diary', which she'd unlocked. From what she'd read after a search on the Ability, the 'automatic identification' wouldn't happen on the Console, so she wasn't sure _how_ it would happen, unless it just meant her knowledge of plants would let her recognise them later.

Either way, a maester's notes on plants would be an educational read.

* * *

 

/            Empty Thread          \  
/          Tool – Thread Type        \  
/        Rank – Special Treasure       \  
/     Empty Thread can take on the    \  
|  Attributes of _any_ material it comes |  
| into contact with. It does not retain |  
\     memory of the substance, so    /  
\        any material must be         /  
\              reacquired.              /  
\                    .                    /

Sansa turned the page.

/              **Warning**!                 \  
/         Materials converted          \  
/      by Empty Thread retain ALL     \  
|  Properties, please do not attempt  |  
|     to convert Elemental or Toxic     |  
\     materials without high levels    /  
\ of Resistance, or proper Safety /  
\               Measures.               /

 

'Does that mean I can convert _fire_ into thread?' Sansa wondered, trying to figure out how she could get 'Resistance' to fire. 'What about ice,' Sansa gasped as a realisation struck her. 'What about _Ice_?'

* * *

 

“She wants to learn _what_?” Catelyn stared at Maester Luwin, waiting to be told she'd heard him wrong. Beside her, Ned seemed just as confused.

“Are you _sure_ that's what she wanted to learn?” He also waited for Luwin to reveal he'd misheard.

But Maester Luwin nodded, “yes, lady Sansa wants to learn some of the healing arts. She certainly has the steady hands and delicate touch for sewing wounds.”

“But...” Catelyn looked mildly ill at the thought, “but it's...”

“She's never shown any desire for such things before,” Ned said, trying to make sense of the request.

“True,” Luwin allowed, “but from what I understand, and Septa Mordane noticed it as well, apparently lady Sansa had a rather... unpleasant dream which has left her somewhat... shaken. Some dreams linger far past waking, I believe this is one such dream.”

“But what could possibly...?” Ned shared a look with his wife, concern for their eldest daughter blossoming in them both. What horrors had Sansa dreamed that she would ask to learn such gruesome arts? Was this somehow related to the reason she had suddenly taken interest in her sister's sewing lessons?

“Why hasn't she come to us about this?” Cat asked the men, confused and worried. Her eldest daughter had always been such a good girl, so well behaved.

“Perhaps she doesn't wish to burden you with the worry,” Luwin offered.

“Or perhaps she doesn't think we'll believe that whatever bothered her is worth worrying over,” Ned replied, “haven't we told our children before: it's just a dream, it cannot hurt you.”

“We have,” Cat said, dropping her face into her hands for a moment. When she finished despairing she gave Luwin a stern look. “Very well, let her learn as long she wants to, but she'll likely realise quickly it is not a pleasant art, and then that will be that.”

“Indeed my lady Stark,” Luwin nodded, bowing slightly at the order.

“Thank you, Maester Luwin,” Ned said before dismissing the man from the solar. He turned to Cat and eyed her carefully, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

“Should we talk to Sansa about her dream?” He asked, “if she hasn't come to us...”

“If she hasn't come to us, she might not thank us for going to her,” Cat said, shaking her head slightly. “We'll speak with her on other matters, remind her she can come to us and talk with us, let her take the steps without pushing her.”

Ned nodded, “if you think that best,” he leaned over and dropped a kiss on her hair, “we'll deal with it in the morning,” and pulled her to her feet, before escorting her to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wrote almost 4,900 words for this chapter, but I cut a little over 1,500 because I didn't like where they took the story. It was basically Sansa revealing everything that happened in the future to her parents, but I'm not sure if I'm ready for that, or if I want to do it at all.  
> Please let me know if you felt this chapter was too bogged down in 'embroidery tutorial'.  
> Also, if the line about 'Ice' confused you, Ice is the name of Ned Stark's Valyrian Steel Great Sword... I have PLANS! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go ever so slightly wrong before they get better.  
> Also Starring, our first time skip. (of a couple of days)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains semi-graphic depictions of BLOOD and PIG MEAT, it also contains allusions to basic MEDICAL PROCEEDURES, specifically medical stitches as used in wound care.

Arya shook out her hand, trying to ease the cramp and looked over to her sister's work. Sansa wasn't working on the same picture today, but Arya was alright with that. Yesterday had gone a long way to help Arya's problems concerning the difference between their talents.

“Oh, here,” Sansa put her work down and reached for Arya, “I'll show you how to work out the cramp.”

Sansa waited for Arya to reach back, to put her hands in her sister's before she began, letting the younger girl choose the help, rather than forcing it on her.

As Sansa gently flexed and rubbed Arya's fingers and palm, she explained how she treated each of the cramps, and how she'd learned what was too far in terms of stretching. (By straining her fingers so she hadn't been able to use her hands properly for a week once, but don't tell the boys.)

“What are you working on?” Arya asked after Sansa released her hands, instructing her to wait a few minutes before returning to work.

“This is a Wild Leek flower,” Sansa held up her work for Arya to see, putting it down to pull out a book. A bookmark opened the page to an image of the same flower Sansa was sewing. “I'm using a pistil stitch, I thought this might be a good next project, once you feel ready to move on from satin stitch.”

Arya looked between the page and Sansa's cloth, the long stitches had somehow been knotted on one end, sprawling out in a circle, the bloom looked a little intimidating to Arya.

“Don't worry, I promise the stitch is easier than it looks,” Sansa smiled, a laugh hidden in the lines of her lips, but Arya didn't feel like Sansa was laughing _at_ her for a change.

“Speaking of easier,” Sansa said as she put the book away and picked up Arya's hoop, “let me show you a trick for doing the satin stitch in a few less movements, now that you have the basics down. This principle is taken from running stitch.” She pulled part of the excess cloth outside the hoop taut between her fingers, and poked the tip of the needle through, as the needle extended she tilted it until it laid across the cloth, then a little more, so that the tip slipped back through the fabric.

She lifted the edge to show Arya as she let go off the back of the needle to take the tip, pulling the needle and thread through both holes in one motion. “Your material is just a bit too tight at the moment, and you'll need to be more careful not to over-tighten your stitches, but I can add a bit of slack if you'd like to give it a go?”

“Please,” Arya said, wide eyed and nodding. Anything to make the embroidery go faster.

* * *

 

/   Botanist Updated!   \  
/   Silver Ranked Pattern   \  
/ Wild Leek has been added \  
|        to the Plant Diary.        |  
\     Wild Leek can now be    /  
\    Identified by Ability:    /  
\          Botanist.           /

 

 

* * *

“Sansa, Arya,” their father was waiting for them when they returned from their ride, “did you two enjoy yourselves?”

“Yes father,” Sansa said as she dismounted.

“It was alright,” Arya shrugged, “do you want to see my leaf?” Arya began digging around in her saddle bag for her work.

Sansa was more purposeful in her actions as she removed her sewing kit from her own saddle bag, before she handed over her horse to a stable-hand with a quick 'thank you'.

“It looks good,” their father was saying to Arya as Sansa joined them, though the quick, amused glance Arya gave Sansa revealed that Arya knew their father was merely humouring his daughter, and had no idea if the work was good or not.

“It does,” Sansa agreed anyway, because it _did_ look good, even the portion that used the slightly faster version of the stitch. Their father nodded like he'd known all along, and told Arya to clean up for lunch.

Arya hesitated when she realised Sansa wasn't being sent to wash up as well, but a stern, raised eyebrow from their father hurried her along.

“Sansa, Maester Luwin spoke with your mother and I last night,” Sansa's breath hitched as she listened, and she tried not to be too hopeful. “We've talked it over, and you'll be allowed to take lessons with Luwin, but I warn you now, if you cannot handle the... nature of the subject, or if it begins to negatively impact your other lessons, or if you lose interest, the lessons will stop immediately, and we will not be revisiting this... idea. Do you understand?”

“Yes father,” Sansa said, “thank you father,” and she stepped forwards to hug him tightly.

Ned patted his daughter on the head, a little awkwardly.

“Alright, you'd best hurry along or you'll be late to lunch.”

Sansa squeezed him tighter before releasing him, walking quickly as she left, to aware of herself to do something like  _ run _ .

* * *

"What did father want?” Arya asked as she and Sansa made their way to the hall.

“I've been allowed to take new lessons with Maester Luwin,” Sansa tried to hide her glee, but Arya noticed it anyway.

“What lessons? The younger girl asked, suspicious.

“Just... lessons,” Sansa winced internally at how poorly she was concealing herself.

“ _ What _ lessons?” Arya demanded.

“It's a  _ surprise _ ,” Sansa said, before she realised she was quickly losing control of the conversation, and worse, Arya's mood. 

“ _ Fine _ !” Arya huffed, “don't tell me, I don't care.” She turned from her sister and stomped off. Because Arya did care, and deeply too, and Sansa had forgotten how... mercurial her younger sibling had been as a nine year old girl. Sansa lifted the hem of her dress slightly, just enough to make it easier to walk fast enough to catch up with her sister.

“ _ Medicine _ ,” Sansa hissed once she's almost closed the gap. Arya didn't turn to face Sansa, but she did slow, tilting her head just so, so Sansa knew Arya was intrigued. “I asked Maester Luwin to teach me medicine, to sew wounds and things.”

The two walked in silence for several paces, “I thought sewing wounds might the sort of thing you'd enjoy learning as a reward for the work you're putting into embroidery, and another pair of hands that can tend to injuries wouldn't go astray, and sometimes I feel so  _ bloody useless _ , good for nothing but looking pretty and singing sweetly.”

“Yeah, well,” Arya seemed to be struggling with things to say, “you do those pretty good.” Sansa bit her tongue so she wouldn't lose any good will she'd just regained by correcting her sister's speech. “And sewing people up does sound like a good use of your 'lady skills'... are you going to be alright though? You aren't going to faint at the sight of blood are you?” Arya looked at her sister with something one  _ might _ have deemed concern.

“I hope not, fainting at the sight of blood might become  _ very _ inconvenient once I...” Sansa patted her abdomen lightly, “'become a lady' as it were.”

She could see the instant Arya figured out what she meant, paling and pulling a face somewhere between shocked and horrified. It was so comical on Arya's face that Sansa laughed, slapping a hand across her own mouth to stop herself so she didn't offend Arya. But her younger sister started laughing too.

By the time they reached the hall for lunch, they'd managed to settle down to only the occasional giggle.

* * *

Maester Luwin spent a good long while staring at her, so naturally, Sansa stared back. She assumed he was waiting for her to get cold feet, to change her mind, to leave.

She didn't.

“Very well,” Luwin said at last, “let's begin.” He brought out two trays from behind a pile of books, and put them on the table, one directly in front of Sansa, one just to her side and removed the heavy cloth covering them. Luwin took a seat before the second, setting out the curved needles and thick thread.

Sansa bit her tongue lightly and swallowed, the smell was almost putrid.

On the trays were bloody slabs of pig, sections of skin backed with a layer of meat, both chunks had various cuts and nicks across the surface skin, small pools of red in the deeper ones. 

At least, Sansa assumed it was pig, she couldn't imagine Luwin cutting up a person for a lesson like this.

“Now, watch me carefully,” Luwin said he grabbed his slab of pig skin and meat, and held one of the cuts closed.

“Yes Maester Luwin,” Sansa had fed ~~her second husband~~ the Bolton mongrel to his own dogs, a little bit of pig flesh wasn't going to turn her away. She fixed her gaze on Luwin's hands, her own mimicking his movements as she tried to commit the methods to memory.

* * *

“Should we expect a return to her normal schedule?” Ned as Luwin later that night, Cat nervous at his side.

Luwin hesitated.

“I'm afraid not my lord,” the Maester said at last, “lady Sansa handled the task... rather well, she made no complaints even though I took meat that had begun to rot and added some fresh blood from a recent kill. She also performed with great skill, her stitches were near perfect, I'd think she'd done it before, certainly up to par with many Maesters.”

The old Maester chuckled, “perhaps I should send word to the Citadel, advise them to have their students of medicine take up embroidery if this is the skill it grants.”

“I can't imagine they'd take well to that,” Cat said wryly.

“Hmm, perhaps not,” Luwin admitted.

“You'll continue to teach her then?” Ned asked.

“I will,” Luwin said with a single nod. “Tomorrow we'll move to simple ingredient identification and purpose, as it is the proper place to begin.”

“Very well,” Ned said before sighing, “I'll leave it to you, let us know if... there's anything we need to know.”

“Of course my lord.”

* * *

'The problem with the Empty thread,' Sansa thought, as she embroidered hair onto a picture of herself on her Console, with Empty Thread imbued with her own hair, 'is that the second you put it away, you lose whatever material you were working with, and despite what the Console said, there is one material it can't replicate: itself.'

Over the course of a week, Sansa had trialled different materials with the Empty Thread, and discovered a major flaw. While Empty Thread could become a thread of any material that, somehow, acted like a normal thread yet retained all of the material's properties, the resulting thread didn't count as a material.

_ While Arya was distracted with her new project, a simple stem made with back stitch, Sansa reached out and took a petal from a nearby flower. As subtly as she could, she checked the roaming guards, and when she was certain no one was watching her directly, she took the Needle of Eternal Thread from her Console  equipped with Empty Thread. _

_ Following the instructions for generating 'Material' or 'Filled' Thread, she looped the Empty Thread around the petal and, holding the thread on either side of the petal between pointer and middle finger, and her little and ring fingers, she used her free hand to roll the thread up off the petal while she also tightened the loop. _

_ Between one instance and the next, as the thread came free of the petal and the loop was pulled straight, it went from Empty, to a silky purple, identical to the petal in all regards. She thought it might have even smelled the same, but didn't want to risk being caught sniffing thread. _

_ A breeze blew the petal away, and Sansa needed to finish her current work, a small spray of yellow whitlow grass, which required no purple. Not wanting to lose the 'petal thread', Sansa followed the instructions for separating segments of thread from the needle. Measuring out a length by eye, Sansa brought two points of the thread together, then twisted the thread around itself to create a loop , this one large enough to fit over her hand. _

_ Carefully, she pinched the thread with both hands at the site of the twist and pulled gently. The loop came away with one hand, while the rest of the thread stayed with her other hand, the two sections now separate from one another. Inspecting the 'petal thread' still attaching the Needle to the Console's fabric revealed it to be in one complete piece, no obvious breaks anywhere to be found. _

_ Slipping the loop over her wrist like a bracelet, Sansa returned her needle to its resting place, and returned to her embroidery. _

_Later, when she'd tried to use the 'petal thread' to 'load' (or 'fill') the Empty Thread, nothing had happened. She experimented with the thread, wondering if the_ _loop of_ _petal thread was just too old. She discovered she didn't need to put the loop over things to absorb them into the Empty Thread, as long as the 'absorbing loop' motion was in contact with the material that she was absorbing, but no matter the material, she couldn't absorb from a thread created with the Empty Thread._

Sansa sighed as she finished embroidering her picture's hair. It had been the last stage of her picture, having already finished her body with thread imbued with her skin, something she had discovered by accident while trying to figure out what would and would not let the Empty Thread absorb materials.

Embroidering a picture of herself with a thread technically made from her own skin had been... odd and uncomfortable to say the least, but given that just about anything could turn into an Ability, she had to try. She felt like she was running out of time, and she still didn't know what to do, how to save the world.

She had thought of sending a letter to Jon Arryn, to warn him what his wife and Littlefinger were planning, but would he believe a letter from a stranger? Would he even receive it, or was there a chance the letter would find itself in Lysa or Petyr's hands, causing them to act sooner?

She just... didn't know what to do.

 

/       **Avatar Created** \  
/  All Status Bars Boosted   \  
/     All Resistances +10%     \  
|  All physical Abilities +10%  |  
\ You can now use Auto-fill /  
\      In Ability Creation.    /  
\                 .                 /

 

/ **Avatar Function** \  
/        Unlocked        \  
/   **Mini-Map Beacon** \  
|           Unlocked            |  
\       **Map Function** /  
\         Unlocked         /  
\           ~*~            /

 

Sansa stared in shock, she didn't know what most of those words meant in the context she was seeing them. Sansa uncapped her pen to Fast Search the terms and then stopped, a thought occurring to her. She had to take a moment to stop herself from smacking herself in the face when she realised something very important.

Throughout all her experiments with empty thread, she hadn't thought to ask the Console directly for a solution.

“Is there a way to save the filled Empty Thread for later reuse?” An idea occurring to her as she wrote, she added: “Is there a fast way to turn the Eternal Threads into a fabric?”

Maester Luwin had bemoaned how long it took to make bandages, compared with how quickly they were used up, during her lessons earlier that evening.

Sansa's questions vanished as they always did before the page of answers appeared.

But the page of answers _didn't_ appear. A dot, which vanished and reappeared as it moved in a circle, made its way around and around the centre of the Console for five _long_ minutes.

And then, finally:

 

/      **Recalibration** \  
/      Estimated Time:      \  
|   24 **Hours** 00 **Minutes** |  
\   All Functions are on   /  
\ hold until complete. /

 

“What!?” Sansa asked, the [24 Hours 00 Minutes] changing to [23 Hours 59 Minutes] as she stared. She tried swiping the page, but the message didn't move. She tried writing on the Console, but the pen made no mark.

She tried writing on something else, but still no mark.

'This is fine, I survived before with no Console, this is nothing' she told herself, 'it's fine.'

* * *

She woke early in the morning, to nervous to sleep.

 

/    **Recalibration**  \  
/    Estimated Time:    \  
| 17 **Hours** 21 **Minutes** |  
\        **Generating** :       /  
\       Treasures       /

 

* * *

She had to take one of her old embroidery hoops on her ride with Arya. Her sister noticed her distraction (and the change in hoops) straight away, and declared it a break day, the duo sat making flower crowns and roaming about the countryside (guards in tow) until it was time to return to Winterfell.   
  


/     **Recalibration** \  
/    Estimated Time:    \  
| 10 **Hours** 36 **Minutes** |  
\        **Generating** :       /  
\     Boss Monster     /

 

* * *

Sansa wasn't sure what would happen when the 'Recalibration' was complete, she wondered if she'd missed more changes to the items being generated, or if it was just the two.

In the last few hours, she got _very_ worried.

 

/    **Recalibration** \  
/    Estimated Time:    \  
|  3 **Hours** 56 **Minutes** |  
\         **Compiling** :        /  
\        Dungeon        /

 

Sansa was so distracted as the minutes and hours slowly wound down, that she stuck herself no less than five times with her needle as she sewed her new trouser-skirt.

But finally, it was over.

/     **Recalibration Complete!**      \  
/   Dungeons are now Available.    \  
/   **The Dungeon of Winterfell** is now \  
/ Available. Somewhere within the City \  
| A Dungeon has been formed, a Prison |  
\    to trap you for ever, or a trove of    /  
\       untold Treasure? Only your       /  
\             Skill will decide.              /  
\                       .                       /

 

/      **Dungeon Clue** :      \  
/       Beneath your feet,     \  
/         the secrets sleep,        \  
/          if you find them,           \  
|            yours to keep,              |  
\       through dark danger,      /  
\      you'll have to creep,      /  
\  for the cost of treasure, /  
\       is not cheap.        /

 

If Sansa hadn't been sitting, she thought she would have fallen over, as it was, she felt faint with relief.

Still, 'Dungeons' could wait for the morning, (she hoped,) Sansa had to make sure the rest of her Console's Functions were still working normally.

'I should have just activated the Map Function,' she thought, looking through the various pages.

The only thing she noticed of any real importance, was on her [Character Sheet], the 'first page' where before there was an odd space along one side, was a picture of _her_ , her nude body was thankfully turned demurely away from the observer, though her face was still readily visible.

'Is that related to the 'Avatar' thing?' She wondered. She considered investigating, but an Alert popped up on her Console. The Console apparently didn't care for her poor sleep the night before, and was warning her to go to bed, or suffer the 'Exhaustion' Status Effect.

Sansa chose discretion as the better part of Valour and left the Console's new changes for the morning, now that she knew it wasn't broken forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any amongst you reader are professional or even hobbiest embroiderers: I am so sorry, I know very little about embroidery, I'm doing research and trying to present it in a way that makes sense based on what I know, if I screw up, please tell me, I'm trying to get a good balance but I also want to be as accurate as possible.  
> Everyone else: if I don't explain enough of a concept, please ask, or feel free to google it or look at some youtube tutorials, because they're amazing. I'm also pretty sure I've accidentally made Sansa impossibly fast at embroidery, but lets just say that's a side effect of 'because magic', yeah? ; )


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa investigates some things, makes some discoveries, and possibly a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaehaerys VS Aegon - Look, Aegon is Jon's half brother, I get that families (especially in books) like to recycle names, but naming a child after their (at the time, still living) half brother? No thanks, I'll stick to Jon's fanon birth name. (We all know D&D were just collating characters again.) SO HEADS UP: Jon's Jaehaerys, not Aegon in this fic.

Maps, it turned out, were legitimate maps.

That _moved_.

It had taken Sansa a day to figure out the full extent of the Map function, using the handy guide provided, and a copy of a map of Winterfell. She sewed in the lines of the walls, and the most important buildings, added in a burst of red for the weirwood tree, and submitted the map.

The console had informed her that maps had various 'accuracy ratings', as well as 'rankings', both of which went into an overall rating which affected one very impressive feature of the Maps: Auto-fill.

Auto-fill would add in the minutia, the small details that would simply take to long to fill herself if she ever wanted to do... literally anything else with her time. The only set back was that she needed to first create an accurate enough map, in good enough embroidery, and once the Auto-fill feature was activated, she needed to get close enough to an area for the Auto-fill to add the details in. The small moving dot coloured the same shade as her hair and showed her exact location on the map (her 'Mini-Map Beacon') had a circle around it, showing the area of effect that registered to the Auto-fill.

Unfortunately, dungeons required a higher level of accuracy to activate the Auto-fill.

A further investigation into dungeons had turned up some additional information, which Sansa was still mulling over. Dungeons – which she'd discovered were called that because they held things securely, and not because they were literal prisons – would now be cropping up all over Westeros, but only 'opened' when her Console was present.

Sansa was the 'gamer', the one playing the game with the Being, they were made for her, to amuse the Being with her efforts. She wasn't sure if that meant anyone with her could also enter the dungeons, or if _only_ she could.

Either way, it brought her something of a dilemma.

“Beneath your feet the secrets sleep” the clue to current dungeon had read. 'The Dungeon of Winterfell', Sansa suspected, was somewhere in the Crypts of Winterfell. The problem with that was, she had no idea _where_ in the crypts it might be.

The Crypts were, inexplicably, not included in her map of Winterfell, so she would need to map them out by hand since there were no maps of the Crypts for her to copy from. Which meant she'd need to measure the halls and tunnels, and she could count by paces for that, but the effort would take a long time, and she could only carry so many torches at once.

'Maybe... I could make them last longer?' Sansa thought as she and Arya rode across the country side. She considered the problem as they decided on a spot to sew for the morning, trying to figure out how to express the idea of a long lasting torch in a purely visual format. (One that didn't care for written word at least.)

By the time Sansa had Arya reluctantly performing a stitch review, by sewing and labelling as many rows of different stitches as she could, Sansa thought she might have an idea.

Quickly stitching the outline of a person-shape, Sansa tapped it three times in rapid succession, and the outline filled out with a likeness of herself. She'd had to choose the Avatar's Auto-fill function, which she'd only understood the purpose of _after_ she'd seen the same word in the maps section.

The likeness of herself was posed like the outline, on hand in the air, and ignoring the image's nudity (an ongoing issue she'd have to find a way to correct), she began sewing in the image of a lit torch into the image's hand.

When the torch was finished, she sewed a small red sun, sinking beneath a hill to one side of her image's form, then a moon and a few stars above, before adding a golden-almost-orange sun rising on the other side of her.

Praying, Sansa submitted the image, biting her tongue lightly to stop herself from cheering when the Console informed her she'd created a new Ability: Night Light. She went straight to her Ability Tree to check.

 

/         Night Light:         \  
/                                       \  
/  Any Source of Light Held  \  
| by the Gamer will last until |  
\ deliberately extinguished, /  
\ or for up to half an hour /  
\  after being dropped.  /

 

'Perfect,' Sansa mentally cheered.

“What are you smirking about?” Arya asked as she took a break from her review. Sansa snuck a look at her sister's work.

“Just that I'll have to bring some pig skin tomorrow to show you how to sew up wounds,” she nodded to the younger girls embroidery hoop, and Arya looked excited by the idea, “as a reward for doing so well.” Sansa paused, then snickered, “ _sew_ well.”

Arya gave her sister an appalled look, shaking her head at the pun's terribleness.

* * *

Sansa filled a small satchel with her Console, a skin of water and a cloth wrapped piece of bread before she made her way down to the Crypts, grabbing a torch as she went.

For several nights, Sansa made her way down to the Crypts, mapping out more and more of the underground tunnels.

* * *

On her second night, she rounded a stone coffin to measure the depth of its alcove, and her foot knocked something small, sending it tumbling and clattering further in. Holding her torch forwards slightly, she managed to get the light on it.

'A... _bobbin_?' Sansa thought, as she knelt to pick it up. And it was, made of the same white 'wood' as her Console, an otherwise normal looking, if empty, bobbin. The cylinder was not quite twice the thickness of her thumb, and slightly shorter than it, the ends flared slightly to stop thread falling off, and there was a hole through the centre of its 'shaft'.

'What's a bobbin doing down here?' Sansa wondered as she left the alcove and set her torch into a nearby sconce. Digging out her Console, she saw there was a dot at the bottom of the page, but when she swiped off her partially done map, all the console said was: Bobbin of Eternal Thread 1/21.

She'd had a niggling idea the item might be related to the Console, being made form the same material, but if it was one of those 'treasure's' the console had mentioned during recalibration, then what was it doing in the Crypts? Shouldn't it have been in the dungeon? Wasn't that what the dungeon was for?

'Unless,' Sansa thought with a sudden chill down her spine, 'the dungeon _isn't_ **in** the Crypts, the dungeon **is** the Crypts.'

Sansa lost several minutes calming herself, stuck her newly acquired bobbin into her bag to deal with later, and went back to mapping.

* * *

The Bobbins bore a similar name to her Needle of Eternal thread for a very good reason: they _also_ held unending amounts of thread, _and_ any 'Filled' Thread she wound onto them could be reused later, unlike her _first_ attempts at exploiting the Empty Thread's abilities.

The morning after her third night in the Crypts (now in possession of 4 bobbins), Sansa tried filling her bobbins. Since Arya had decided the day she got to sew pig skin was the day Sansa had fulfilled her promise, the morning embroidery was now also Sansa's lessons in archery,

The guards had been shocked at first, but the combined might of Sansa's rational arguments, and Arya's 'I'm an adorable child would you really say no?'-sad-face, they managed to calm the men.

This unfortunately left Sansa with little time for adding things to her Console's ever expanding library of stuff, so as subtly as she could, she'd collected the hair from one of the horse's manes, and filled her Empty Thread with its coat, winding the coat thread around one of her bobbins and separating as she had before.

* * *

She hadn't made any animals that _weren't_ house sigil's yet, and she wanted to see what it would do, she collected the horse samples to see if the thread she used affected ranking.

Sansa's first horse was made with normal threads, the shape was good, the stitches well made, but the 'ranking' was only a silver.

/ Ability Created: \  
/  Animal Handling  \  
/ General Level: Basic \  
|     Specific Animal     |  
\     Level – Horse:     /  
\          Silver          /  
\           .            /

 

/      Animal Handling:    \  
/       Animals like you,      \  
|   you have a connection,   |  
\ some like you more than /  
\              others.             /

  
/       Animal Handling -      \  
/                 Horse:                  \  
/               Rank: Silver               \  
|       Horses are your friend,        |  
\ They're less likely to frighten,  /  
\    buck or misbehave under   /  
\           your command.       /

 

Her second horse was made with the thread from the bobbin, and Empty Thread she filled with the horse's mane hair.

 

/          Animal Handling -         \  
/                    Horse:                     \  
/                Rank: Platinum               \  
|       You are one with the Horse.      |  
\ Saddle sores? Never heard of 'em. /  
\ You are so in tune with the herd /  
\ it's like they can speak to you. /

 

Sansa waited, and swiped at her Console, but the description became no clearer. In the end she took it as confirmation that the thread she used _mattered_ , and went down for another few hours of mapping.

* * *

“It's like they can speak to you” made sense the next morning, when Sansa approached the horses for her morning outing with Arya and the day's guards. She came to a halt suddenly as she was pulling on her riding gloves.

Sansa glanced from one horse to the next, waiting, but no one else seemed to notice the words floating, translucent in the air above each horses head.

{'Cold, run soon?'}

{'Oats? Apple? Snacks please?'}

The words were few, the ideas basic, but Sansa _apparently_ now had an insight into the minds of all horses.

They were clever, but surprisingly simple creatures.

'Well,' Sansa thought as she approached her horse, 'at least they like me.'

{'Nice girl, nice girl.'}

* * *

Night 6 of the Crypt mapping, and Sansa was deep into the tunnels, measuring out the newest corridor with her paces when she heard it.

A snuffling, clicking sound, the sound of _something_ moving across the dirt floors. She stilled, her torch flickering above her head as she raised it, trying to get the best spread of light.

With a screaming warble, something the size of a large dog came racing towards her, its entire face opening into a large, tooth riddled mouth.

Shrieking, Sansa threw her torch at it, turned, and fled back along the corridor. The sound of the creature grew distant behind her and, as she reached the intersection of the new tunnel and one she'd already finished mapping, she looked back.

The creature was 'yelling' at her torch, pacing around it, darting in to snap at it, only to dart back when the flame proved to hot for its mouth. It rubbed its flanks aggressively against several stone corners, on the base of the walls that separated the various tombs, on the stone coffins and even statues themselves.

The creature made a noise Sansa could only describe as 'triumphant' and waddled off into the dark.

Sighing in relief, Sansa walked back to her torch. Glancing at one of the walls by the edge of the torch's light, where the creature had rubbed itself, Sansa noticed a small tuft of fur wedged into a small crack in the of one of the stones.

Thinking of her {Animal Handling} skill set, she carefully pulled the fur free before wrapping it in a piece of scrap cloth and securing it in her bag. She was done for the night, she decided, and stepped forward to grab her fallen torch.

The warble-shriek was the only warning she had before the creature came back full pelt. Sansa ran, leaving the torch on the ground, she fled back up the corridor. Once again the creature seemed more interested in the torch than in her, so she stopped at the intersection, barely able to see in the limited light that came from the now distant torch.

She pulled her Console from her bag and was glad to see the map was still visible on the surface.

Sansa frowned.

The Console was perfectly visible, like she was looking at it in full light, and yet, the tunnels around her was dark and dim.

'Convenient,' Sansa thought, and pulled the needle from the fabric. Equipped with orange thread, she pinched at the map picture until it shrunk to the point where she could see enough of the Crypts to see all the way to the exit.

In theory, thanks to the visibility of the Console, she could navigate out of the Crypts by watching the little moving map marker that showed her relative location, using it to gauge where in the tunnels she was. But that would mean she would need to make the visible part of the map so big, she might not see a turn she needed to take.

A snuffling noise came from dawn the corridor.

'That sounded closer,' Sansa thought, a chill racing down her spine. Pushing the fear away, she traced the route back to the exit with her finger, then quickly traced it back with a simple running stitch, making sure to create corners at the actual corners.

The snuffling grew closer.

Sansa finished the route, and reset the needle, and gasped.

The snuffling stopped, the creature had heard her, she was sure. As she slid her Console back into the bag, trying to be as quiet as she could while securing it, Sansa looked back towards the torch.

The creature was indeed _much_ closer.

With her now free hands, Sansa grabbed her skirts, lifting them out of the way of her feet, she began to walk, slowly at first, then faster as she grew used to navigating via this new insanity the Console had brought her.

When Sansa had finished the route and reset the Needle, the ground before her had lit up. Though judging by the lack of light reflecting on the walls, it had lit up in the same way as the Console: for her eyes only.

Dashes of orange paved the path for her, and she used them to race through the darkness, the sounds of the creature disappearing behind her.

When at last she ascended into the cool, fresh air above ground, she felt like weeping, she stumbled against a wall and sunk to the muddy ground, uncaring.

She was alive.

“Lady Sansa?!” she looked up at the familiar voice, a guardsman of Winterfell stood nearby with a torch, he stepped forwards and knelt offering his hand to help her up.

Sansa felt awful that she couldn't recall his name.

“My lady, are you alright? What are you doing out here at this time of night?”

“I'm alright,” Sansa pressed her hand to her mouth as her voice came out sobbing.

“My lady?” He looked around, trying to find the cause of her distress. He called out to another guard, but Sansa called out to stop them from looking for a non-existent threat... well, from looking for a _person_ who didn't exist.

“No, its alright really, I'm alright, I'm alive, I... I was just walking and, and there were...”

“There were?” the guard asked, gently.

'What is his _name_?!' Sansa tried to recall, unsure she'd ever known it. “There was a monster in the Crypts,” she said at last, when she realised he was waiting for her to continue. The fear that had gripped her refused to let her go, memories of the Crypt, the Battle for the Dawn, it all swirled together in her mind, she kept talking, rambling words spilling from her lips. “There were dead men in the Crypts, and they were killing everyone. It was supposed to be safe but they were already in there with us.”

A trail of warmth fell across her cheek, and Sansa realised she was actually crying, despite her efforts not to. She wiped the tear away, and the next.

“Sorry,” she said, trying to regain composure. “I'm sorry,” her breath came faster and her eyes felt hot. There would be no stopping it, it seemed, and Sansa began to cry.

The guard called out to one of the others who'd begun approaching after his first call, but Sansa couldn't make out the words. A few moments of crying like a useless child later, her father was there, picking her up and cradling her close.

* * *

Her mother was stroking her hair when she woke. Mid-morning sunlight filtering in through the window. For a while, Sansa just lay there, feeling both incredibly exhausted, yet also warm and content.

She knew she'd have to move soon, but it felt so nice to have her mother smoothing her hair like she had when Sansa was a child.

'I am a child again,' Sansa reminded herself.

“Are you awake sweetheart?” her mother's voice was soft.

“Not just yet,” Sansa replied, knowing she would have no choice but to explain _something_ to her parents.

“Alright then,” her mother's voice held a hint of laughter, “I'll try again in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Her parents and Maester Luwin sat with her in her father's solar, waiting for her to speak. She knew they expected her to tell them what had caused her fit the night before, why she'd been out so late in the night it was technically morning.

Sansa had been considering her options ever since she'd come back in time, trying to figure out how to tell people what was coming.

Living her life over again was preposterous, but there was an old Northern tale, one she knew to be true, that could be used to explain her actions.

“I've been having dreams lately,” she began, eyes fixed to the floor so she wouldn't have to see her parents' faces, so she wouldn't try to read them, manipulate them, as Cersei and Petyr had taught her to do.

“At first... no, that's a lie, I didn't think they were just nightmares at first, I knew it to the depths of my bones they were true. But that was ridiculous, how could they be true? How could a dream of people dying be true, when they were still alive when I woke up?”

Her mother moved, reaching for her, opening her mouth to say something, but Sansa held up her hand to stave off whatever her mother wanted to say.

“Please, just let me finish.” Her mother settled back into her seat, and Sansa continued. “I didn't want to believe the dreams at first, because they were so horrible. But also, Green Dreaming was just an old story, it wasn't real, it certainly wouldn't happen to a silly girl like me with my Southron sensibilities. And yet...”

“Gods,” her father swore, his head dropping into his hands. Sansa looked up and saw her mother seemingly struggle, perhaps she couldn't figure out whether to support her daughter, or try to correct the belief the nightmares were anything more than bad dreams.

Luwin seemed to be the only one prepared to ask her directly.

“What sort of dreams? What have you seen?” Luwin had mentioned during one of their lessons that he was one of the few Maesters who studied the 'higher mysteries', it was why he had a link of Valyrian Steel in his chain.

'I wonder if that would be easier to collect a thread sample from than Ice?' Sansa wondered briefly before choosing her words carefully.

“I have different kinds of dreams, some make perfect sense, I see things as clearly as if I was living them. Other times, I have dreams that I know to be true, but which... don't seem like real events. For instance, there's one dream, and it feels _very important_ , as if the whole world hinges upon it.” Her parents and Maester Luwin focus one her as she speaks, setting aside their doubts for the time being.

“There's a mockingbird, and it is trying to catch a fish from the river. There are two fish, one is a little bit prettier than the other, the colours of its scales more vibrant, the mockingbird wants that fish more than anything. But that fish is guarded by a grey wolf, so the mockingbird tries to go for the other fish, but it is guarded by a white falcon, so the mockingbird flies away.

“It lands near a stag, a large, fat stag with golden antlers. The mockingbird sings to the stag and the stag lets the mockingbird sit upon his back, but they have a deal of some kind I think, because the mockingbird helps to find gold for the stag, for his antlers, but then, the mocking bird steals some of the gold it's found, and some from the antlers, and then hides it, and 'finds' some of what it stole, and this goes on, until the stag thinks the mockingbird is the best gold finder ever.

“Which works out well for the mockingbird, because the stag is friends with the wolf and the white falcon, so the stag goes to show of his new mockingbird friend to the falcon, since it lives closer to the stag. While the stag and the falcon play together though, the mockingbird gets it's little talons in the fish and the fish turns poisonous. When the falcon comes back to the river, it drinks the water near the fish, and dies.”

Sansa clenched her fists, knowing that she needed to hammer in the truth of her dreams, to make her parents look deeper. She took a deep breath, and spared only a few seconds to hate herself for what she was about to do.

She hadn't even had the chance to speak with Jon properly since she'd returned, though she'd been as kind as she could when they'd interacted, she hadn't gotten the chance to apologise to him for how she'd behaved before.

And now she was betraying his secret, again.

“There are other dreams, which make sense, only, I don't know the people,” she said. “I think the lady in the tower might be aunt Lyanna though. She looks a lot like Arya, but older.”

“Lady in the tower?” Her mother asks.

“Yes,” Sansa nods, recalling every last scrap she knew from Sam and Bran and Jon. “I mean, sometimes she under the tree with the maester and the white haired man, and she looks so happy when the white haired man kisses her. But in the tower... there's a man there, with her, and it looks like father, but younger, and she calls him Ned. “Promise me Ned,” that's what she says.”

Her father turns pale, looks at her with horror in his face, and she knows in that moment, that he will believe. He shakes his head at her, begging silently for her not to finish the story.

Sansa goes silent. Luwin and her mother give her curious looks.

“Promise her what?” her mother asks, and Sansa looks at her father, but he shakes his head.

“ _Family_ , Duty, Honour,” Sansa speaks the words of House Tully, “you did them both wrong by lying father. Even if it was to protect him, even if it saved his life, he is miserable because mother hates him for _your_ deception. It's not fair to either of them.”

“Sansa,” her father begs her to understand.

“He'll leave us for the Wall,” Sansa says suddenly, throwing away her facade. For the next few moments, she is not the daughter of lord and lady Stark, she is Queen of the North, the last Warden of Winterfell. “Winter is coming for all of us, and if you let this family crack any further, it will break, and there will be no one left at the end. The Long Night _is_ coming, summer _is_ ending, I have seen it. I have seen the Night King here in Winterfell, I have seen the dead rising to serve him, I have seen this family die so far from one another, and so far from home.”

“Sansa, sweetling,” her mother says, reaching hesitantly for her, “the Night King is a myth, a story to frighten children.”

“'The North Remembers',” Sansa shook her head, “the North has remembered _nothing_ , we are not _ready_.”

“Sansa,” her father's voice is shaky, “surely you've misunderstood-”

Sansa's expression turned colder, she's had enough of men trying to play with her mind, making her doubt herself. She wonders wildly and far off in her mind, if perhaps she has more wolf's blood than she thought, because she is vicious as she leans forwards, eyes locked with her father's, and speaks a single name in a clear, firm voice.

“Jaehaerys.”

There is a beat of silence before Ned lunges from his chair, fear etched deep into his face as he takes her by the arms and shakes her once, firmly.

“ _Never repeat that_!” He said, “do you understand? _Never_.”

“Then _listen_ to me, because I can't save this family by myself!” Sansa's hands reach up to grab her father by the front of his shirt. “You need to tell them _both_ , because they deserved _better_. _Family, Duty, Honour_. I know you thought you were protecting her, but you hurt her so deeply she could never see past it, and so she hurt him, whether she meant to or not.” She knows her mother well enough to know which it was.

“Ned,” Her mother's voice carries a hint of warning, she'd been left out of this discussion long enough. “What is Sansa talking about?”

“The Gods have given me a mission, I have to see it through, I won't let that future become ours,” Sansa promised her father. Then she leaned forwards and hugged him. “I'm sorry, I know you did what you thought was best, now I have to do the same, and right now that means leaving you to face mother by yourself while I pray for guidance.”

Sansa released her father and wriggled from his grip, darting over to hug her mother, who was so off kilter by Sansa's rapidly shifting behaviour that her return hug was more of a reflex than anything.

Before her father could gather himself, or her mother could think to grab her more tightly, Sansa was drawing back.

“Quickly Maester Luwin, we must make our escape,” Sansa said to the old man as she pulled him to his feet and out the door. As they left the solar, and her parents behind, Sansa gave Luwin a serious look.

“Maester Luwin, I apologise for my behaviour, but I must ask-” he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“Not to fret my dear, I'm loyal to House Stark, just as I have always been, there shall be no rumours from me. Now, you've had quite the night, why don't you tell me what's good for shock?”

There was worry in him, Sansa could see it. He knew she'd said _something_ to spook her father, something she likely shouldn't have known, something _Luwin_ shouldn't know. But everything he _knew_ no doubt said her story was impossible, or at least very, _very_ unlikely.

Dutifully, Sansa began listing off all the herbs, and potions that used them, when treating cases of shock. (Sansa was perfectly well aware, from Luwin's own teachings, that he was checking her mental state with the basic task.)

* * *

Sansa made it back to her room, tired and filled with regret for choices she'd made. With the short distance of just an hour more, she could see how _affected_ she'd been by the discovery of the monster in the Crypts, she'd been trying to find a way to approach her parents about everything, but what had happened had been _so_ far from ideal.

'Well, what's done is done,' Sansa thought as she sluggishly flopped onto her bed, 'I doubt the Being will let me go back in time _again_ just for that.'

Her stomach grumbled angrily as she looked to her desk, where her bag was sitting. She stood and a moved to it, a quick check revealed all her things still inside.

That was surprising for Sansa, she'd been certain her Console would have been taken away, but even her cloth wrapped fur sample was there.

Her stomach rumbled again.

'Food first,' Sansa decided, then paused as she saw the second page of her character sheet was open.

'Oh lovely,' she thought sarcastically, 'I've finally earned exhaustion.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be honest, I haven't quite settled on a look/punctuation format for {Skills} and [Abilities] and Functions yet. Any preferences on the brackets?  
> (I didn't want Sansa to have this conversation, but it happened any way.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa deals with things, Jon gets a cameo, Arya vies (unknowingly) for the first party member slot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, you will get to see censoring in action, please feel free to pretend that the guard who says 'I freaking told you', said the 'other F word', if you prefer. (Interesting side note, the books actually have far less coarse language than the show.)

Sansa didn't blame Luwin or her parents, given her sudden and somewhat dramatic shift in personality, she'd expected it sooner or later.

Still, it hurt a little to hear the whispers: Lady Sansa's gone mad.

Even reminding herself that no-one would want to marry her to the prince if she was 'mad' eased the sting.

But she'd been hurt worse and with more intent before, she'd weathered it and survived, there were more important things to do than wail over hurt feelings. Like buying goat meat and skin.

“I'm sorry mi'lady, we've only got off cuts, we'll have to go kill a fresh one if for good meat,” the butcher looked worried as he gave her the bad news, but Sansa shook her head.

“That will do just fine, I just need it to smell like goat,” Sansa said, and had to control her face carefully as she realised the man was shrugging off her odd words and request with a mutter of 'mad alright'.

'Maybe being thought mad will be a good thing,' she thought, accepting the bloody scraps and skin.

* * *

 

 

/                        **Chupacapybara** \  
/                   **Dungeon Boss Monster** \  
/        This Dungeon dwelling rodent-beast has         \  
/    a taste for meat.  Preferring Goats to Humans it     \  
| will take whatever it can get in a pinch.  A side effect |  
\ of its hunting habits has left the beast all but blind, /  
\ chasing only the brightest light. They do not stray /  
\   far from their territory and are quick to attack  /  
\ Intruders. Its skin is said to be indestructible. /

 

* * *

Sansa left the scraps in a bowl with a small amount of poison over night and through the next day, letting the toxins soak into the meat.

She wanted to say her poor skills with the bow and arrow were due to her split focus, but in truth, she just wasn't getting any better.

Sansa huffed as her arrow went wide, missing the target by metres and skimming off into the grassy hill side. Crouched nearby, staring at her sister intently, Arya hummed in thought.

“Sansa?”

“Yes Arya?” Sansa was finally familiar with the feeling of irritation that had no doubt plague the younger girl where embroidery skill were concerned.

“I think we should try something,” Arya stood and stepped close to her sister, “and by we, I mean you.” Arya began unlacing Sansa's forearm protector, slipping it from Sansa's left arm and onto her right fore arm.

Sansa didn't resist as her sister swapped the weapons and finger protection to her other side, walking her through the mirrored version of the same steps as before.

Hesitantly, Sansa raised the bow, straining as she pulled it back. She aimed, released and-

“AHH!”

"AH-HA!"

The guards came running at Sansa and Arya's shouts of glee. Sansa was frantic as she showed them the arrow stuck in the very edge of the target.

“I hit it!”

Arya got no warning before Sansa was wrapped around her, hugging her sister tight.

The sisters ignored the guards as they exchanged a few coins.

Laughing into Sansa's shoulder, Arya explained, “some people shoot better from the other side, looks like you're one of them.”

The girls decided to spend the rest of their morning working on Sansa's archery.

By the time they finished and remounted to head home, Sansa was able to hit the target 2 out of every several attempts, though she didn't make it much further in than the very edge, she had narrowed her margin of error significantly, so she was happy with her progress.

* * *

 

“Hey,” Arya hesitated as she and Sansa trotted back to Winterfell, their guards giving them enough room to talk privately, as long as they kept their voices down.

Sansa hummed, turning her attention to Arya.

“I don't know if you've heard, but...” she hesitated again, “did you really come running out of the Crypts saying dead people were killing people?”

Sansa sighed, “I was in the Crypts, and I did come running out, and I did say the dead were killing people, but it wasn't... all together.”

“Oh, well then,” Arya rolled her eyes. Sansa smiled at her sarcasm, and they rode in silence for a little while longer before: “ _have_ _you_ gone mad?”

“No,” Sansa said, completely serious, “I wish I had if it meant the future wasn't...”

Sansa trailed off, her gaze going distant.

“...are you _going_ to go mad?”

Sansa shrugged, “probably.”

* * *

“I think Sansa's in trouble,” Jon startled, whirling from the arrows he was counting for Sir Rodrik to face his younger sister.

“What makes you think that?” He asked, setting down the last of the arrows he had so he could give Arya his full attention.

“Well, you know the rumours she's gone mad?”

“Aye,” Jon said cautiously.

“It's worse than that,” Arya gave him a serious expression and told him what she knew. From the strange hoop Sansa had 'joked' was from the gods, to her change in behaviour, and her promise to be nicer, to her nightmares and sudden interest in archery.

“She finally hit the target to day,” Arya added in a sudden tangent. Jon raised his eyebrows, looking appropriately impressed. “I had her try a left hand draw,” she mimed the action as she spoke, “it's all just practice now.”

“So, if Sansa is in trouble, if it is more than bad dreams following her into the waking world,” Jon said, getting back on track even as he thought of the stories Old Nan told them, “what are you going to do about it?”

“I don't know, I don't know if there's anything I _can_ do,” Arya shrugged morosely, “but... 'the pack survives', right?”

“The pack survives,” Jon replied, and it was an agreement. They would protect their family.

* * *

In preparation for her return to the Crypts, Sansa had created two new abilities. Actually, she'd accidentally created several as she attempted to create ones that would do what she wanted.

Through her trial and error, she created:

[Ignite], an Ability she'd communicated with two pictures of herself holding torches, one torch unused, the second lit.

[Shadow Step], which allowed her to move small distances in the dark unseen. She'd had to partially cover her Avatar's auto-fill with thread made from actual shadow. (She was beginning to realise just how much she was underestimating what she could _do_ with her Console granted Abilities.)

As expected, there were guards by the Crypt entrance. Sansa waited until they were tired and paying less attention, then stole in-between them. By the time they reacted to the slight squeak of the Crypt door, she was already down the steps and away into the darkness.

* * *

“It's... it's not a ghost, is it?”

“Don't be stupid, it's an old door, probably the wind.”

“Right... yeah... wind, of course.”

Neither guard chose to mention or even acknowledge the fact that the entrance was actually well guarded from the wind, or that the night air was quite still.

* * *

Using the orange way-markers that lingered from her last trip, Sansa made her way deep into the Crypt. When she was far enough in that she didn't think the light would be seen from the entrance, she took out her torch from her belt, and with a thought, caused it to [Ignite].

'The night is dark and full of terror,' Sansa thought, mockingly, deliberately ignoring the tremble in her hand as she headed further in. With her Platinum Rank entry for the Chupacapybara, Sansa was able to see the creature's location on her map, just as she could see her own. Admittedly, she could only see its position relevant to her at the moment, as the 'Boss Monster' was beyond the scope of her current map.

Still, given what the Console's new Function -  [Bestiary] - had revealed about the beast, she knew where she'd seen it had to be part of it's territory, so wherever it was, she could get to it from there.

* * *

Coming to the end of the markers, Sansa had to take a long moment to quash the fear clawing at her insides.

'I am the Last Wardeness of the North, Lady Stark of Winterfell, I survived the Long Night and the Army of the Dead, _I will_ **not** _fear_ _a_ _ **rodent**_!'

She let the ice and steel settle within her, and stepped forwards.

Keeping an ear out, she stepped over the long cold torch from her last expedition and kept moving, doing her best to mentally log the direction and distance.

Finally, she heard it.

She stuck her torch into a nearby sconce and climbed on top of one of the stone coffins across from it, her new trouser-skirt making the task easier than her full skirt would have. Seconds later the beast came racing down the corridor, leaping for the torch.

Leap and snap, it went, several times. Just as it was starting to wind down, Sansa took her weapon of choice from her satchel, careful not to jostle it, she half unwrapped it. With a slow underarm toss, she threw the parcel, it hit the wall just below the ensconced torch and the wooden buttons she'd added rattled as the parcel fell apart, the sewn goat skin hitting the ground with a _plop_.

The Chupacapybara was on it in a second, delighted squeals sounding in the corridor as it ate the sewn goatskin in two bites.

Along with the poisoned goat meat inside.

When it was done, the beast 'looked' around, turning in excited circles and sniffing the air. Then it stumbled, and tripped, and fell. Sansa clenched her jaw and watched as the beast began to convulse, dying ' _eek_ 's escaping its spasming mouth.

She felt cold prickles beneath her skin.

For a moment she was back in king's landing, a wailing Cersei clutching her dying son.

Then the image was gone, as quickly as it came and Sansa shook it off. She was using a different poison, one she'd learned from Luwin's lessons, though he hadn't intended to teacher her to kill things, understanding poisons was an important part in identifying and treating them.

The Chupacapybara went silent and still.

When the bell like chime came from her bag a few seconds later, Sansa startled, her whole body flinching so hard she almost threw herself from the top of the coffin. Her heart was racing and her breathing heavy as she pulled the Console from her bag.

 

/      **Congratulations!** \ **  
** / **Dungeon Boss Defeated!** \  
|        Would you like to        |  
\  Auto-Loot the Remains   /  
\                . . .                /

 

/      **Auto-Looting and You**  \  
/    Auto-Looting is a Function    \  
| only compatible with Constructs |  
\    such as Dungeon Creatures   /  
\        and Boss Monsters.        /

  
/              **Construct Loot** :               \  
/     Construct found in Dungeons      \  
| drop unique treasures and Materials. |  
\     If a Construct is left UnLooted      /  
\         It will eventually dissolve.      /

  
/        **Achievement!**         \  
/          1st Boss Down         \  
|  New Achievement Award:  |  
\  New Blueprint Available:  /  
\            Inventory.           /

 

Sansa felt suddenly drained, like everything was catching up to her all at once. She slid down off the grave of her ancestor, and moved closer to the creature's remains. A Fast Search gave her the instructions for Auto-Looting.

She held the Console up between her and the beast, and the fabric turned clear. She pressed her finger to the now clear fabric, right where the corpse appeared. Both through the Console, and around it, the remains seemed to glow with a gentle teal light.

It enveloped the entire body, moulding it like soft clay. When the glowing shape stopped moving, the light faded, and where there had been an oversized rodent-thing with a head made of hidden mouth, now there was a sizeable piece of pale leather, a scroll, and a handful of coins, all gold.

The Console returned to its normal opaque form, a new message across its surface.

 

/       **Chupacapybara Loot** :      \  
/          17 x Gold Dragons         \  
|  Chupacapybara Territory Map  |  
\      Chupacapybara Leather      /  
\  - Transfer Map to Console? /

 

Sansa took out her Pen and scrawled 'YES' under the question. The Console shifted back to her map as the scroll in the loot pile dissolved in teal sparkles. The map on the Console rapidly filled in, a space at the centre of the new area was labelled 'Lair of the Beast'.

She was tired, she had no more poison meat.

Making her choice, Sansa picked up the rest of the loot and put it into her bag, surprised when the leather fit with ease, she'd thought it would be a tight fit for the size of the folded leather piece.

Taking her needle out, Sansa stitched in a new path, joining to the old one. When the Console asked if she wanted to 'overwrite' or 'add to' her old path, she chose 'add to', and when she reset the needle, the new addition sprang into being before her eyes. Grabbing her torch, she forged on.

If she found another one of those creature's she could drop her torch to distract it and run as she had the first time.

* * *

Sansa found no more of the monstrous creatures on her journey, and nothing out of the ordinary until she arrived at the 'Lair'.

It was a round cavern, several paths leading from it, but on one side, their was an alcove devoid of a tomb. In its place was a pile of bones and fur.

Their was a small pedestal at the centre of the bone pile, atop which sat a small object. Careful not to step on or kick any of the scattered bones, Sansa made her way towards it. Up close, it seemed to be a small hand loom.

It looked to be made of the same wood as her Console. Putting her torch in a convenient sconce, she reached out and picked it up. The Console chimed.

 

/     **Treasure Acquired**!     \  
/         **The Parcae Loom**         \  
/    A Unique Treasure, when    \  
|    the Loom is Equipped with    |  
\   Bobbins of Eternal Thread    /  
\ it can weave fabric by itself. /  
\       Link to Console?        /

 

Sansa stepped back, her mind reeling with ideas. Hot on the heals of her realisation concerning how many things she could do with Empty Thread, she wasn't even sure where to start.

She could-

Sansa's foot landed on a round bone, her ankle turning oddly as the bone rolled beneath her boot. She managed to catch herself before she fell, but several of the bones knocked into several more of the bones, and the entire pile shifted.

The sound was deafening after the steady quiet of the Crypts.

Unsure how _many_ Chupacapybara lived in the Dungeon of Winterfell, Sansa tucked the new Loom and her Console into her bag, grabbed her torch, and ran.

* * *

“Yeah, you say that now, but I'm telling you-” The guards, both those who'd been there when she'd entered, and their replacements, startled as the door opened and closed as she slipped out of the Crypts, hurrying past before her [Shadow Step] wore off.

“I freaking told you it was haunted!”

Sansa covered her mouth with one hand as she hurried off, two torches under her arm, one recently doused, the other less so.

* * *

“You look terrible,” Arya said frankly as Sansa leaned against her horse.

“I was up late last night, killing a monster in the Crypt.”

“You killed a monster?” Arya sounded curious, and doubtful.

“Fed it poisoned meat,” Sansa said before trying to hide a yawn.

Arya shuffled her feet awkwardly for a moment.

“ _I_ could fight monsters,” she offered at last, and Sansa smiled.

“Alright, next monster nest, I'll take you along.” Arya's half formed smile dropped as Sansa startled at something Arya couldn't perceive, the older sister glancing at the pack that held her strange, white wood embroidery hoop.

“What?” Arya asked.

But Sansa shook her head, “a problem for later,” she leaned more heavily against her horse, “nap time now.”

Arya snorted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this Dungeon is for Sansa, the next one is a team building exercise.  
> Crafting is coming... with about the same speed as Winter. ;)  
> Archery:  
> so unlike embroidery, this is something I have experience with. I can tell you with genuine authority, that drawing left handed has nothing to do with hand dominance. (which is good because Maisie Williams, who played Arya as left handed for her sword fighting, was shown to right hand draw her bow in the pilot.)  
> Your draw hand, which hand you pull the string and arrow back with, is actually determined by your eyes. Depth perception is a result of information from two sources(eyes) translating into your brain in 3D, but some people get more information from one eye than the other.  
> This is your 'dominant eye,' and it's the one you want closest to the arrow for aiming purposes, if it's further away, you'll be out of alignment the entire time and having to over compensate. GOT bows are the un-ridged kind that can be easily used from either side, thankfully, so swapping draw sides is no issue.  
> (I just realised I hadn't mentioned Sansa's archery lessons, and felt like I needed a reason, and this seemed like a good thematic mirror to Arya's struggles with embroidery 'missing the basics' kind of thing.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa enlists some help, gets more than she asked for, and reveals the truth

Sansa lifted her hands up and down in a repetitive motion, weighing the... 'fabric' she held. It was woven from thread made of high quality steel, the first piece of 'cloth' taken from her new loom.

The first taken with success at least.

Her first attempt had been made from shadows, an attempt at a longer lasting Shadow Step effect, and had dissolved into nothing when she'd attempted to cut it free. She swapped to more solid materials for her second attempt and had blunted two fabric shears before a very carefully worded Fast Search revealed the twisty-foldy method for releasing cloth from the loom without it falling apart.

She was very glad she had managed to get a whetstone from Arya to sharpen them, blunted fabric shears was _not_ something she wanted to explain.

To anyone.

The steel cloth was weighted, the right weight for a mass of steel the same size by Sansa's estimation at least. It had slightly less give than a stiff fabric, but _far_ more than a solid sheet of steel would.

It was only a few hand spans across in either direction, but it had taken an hour for the Loom to make.

The Loom was a strange device, in much the same way her Console and Pen were strange devices. Like her Needle and Bobbins, it was more than it appeared, and yet, it was exactly what it appeared: a loom. It took thread and made cloth.

And it changed size.

Sansa had discovered that particular ability by accident, when she'd knocked one of the buttons on the side, (though she hadn't realised until then that's what they were,) and the Loom had expanded slightly. She confirmed it by searching her Console for more details on the _set up_ of the Loom, not realising til later she'd need more information on _removing_ the fabrics.

Curious, Sansa sat down the steel cloth and picked up a freshly sharpened pair of fabric shears and tried to cut the cloth.

“Ah!” Sansa winced and shrugged, trying to hide her ears with her shoulders at the sound that once more emitted from her shears. Carefully she pulled them free and checked, hissing in sympathy at the poor blunted shears.

'Alright,' she thought, reaching for her whetstone, 'so I still can't _cut_ the cloth. Either there's a tool I haven't been made aware of yet, or I'm just going to have to 'order to fit' as it were.'

When her shears were sharpened, she set them aside and picked up a needle which was both thin and sturdy, and tried pushing it through the cloth. Despite pushing the blunted end, she still had to stop for fear she'd pierce her thumb, the tightly woven steel offering too much resistance for her needle.

'If it handles this well against arrows, it might be useful for armour... though I'd need padding...'

Sansa twirled her needle thoughtfully, her mind finding its way to the memory of her recent Console messages.

When she'd killed the Chupacapybara, she'd earned a 'blueprint', a pattern for something called an 'Inventory'. She wasn't sure how the magic worked, but the leather she'd gained could some how be turned into a belt with an attached pocket that could hold just about _anything_ she wanted it to hold.

But the leather wasn't the only thing she needed. Valyrian Steel Thread and something called a [Piercing Needle] were also on the list. The thread she could get with a little bit of sneaking, but the needle? She had no idea where to find that. But given its name, and what she needed it for, Sansa thought it might be capable of piercing the steel fabric as well.

After all, the Chupacapybara's indestructible skin had turned into a leather that blunted her shears and needles worse than steel, and if the needle could make it through _that_? Then it could probably deal with run of the mill metal.

* * *

Jon was having a normal day, his lessons and training where going well, and the sudden rumour his lady sister had gone mad was finally quieting down, despite her apparent efforts to embrace said rumour.

He rounded a corned into a walkway which passed by one of the yards, the nickering of horses floating through the large open windows. Jon paused as he saw Sansa standing by one of the windows, looking rather intense as she counted something on the ground below and checked it against something on the wide sill before her.

From what Jon could see, it looked like embroidered cloth held in a white circle. Curious, he moved closer.

“What are you counting,” he asked before he could stop himself. Sansa startled and turned to him, wide eyed, a smile forming quickly when she realised that it was him.

“Jon,” she reached out and pulled him into a hug. Jon was both surprised and pleased as he awkwardly returned the hug. It had been a _long_ time since Sansa had been so happy to see him.

“How are you, you look well,” she said as she released him, almost reluctantly.

“I am,” he nodded, looking at her closely. He could see why Arya was worried, there was a tiredness to Sansa's face that he couldn't name, the shadow of wear he couldn't trace lurking in her eyes. “And yourself?” he asked.

“Well enough,” she smiled, her eyes roaming over him, like she was drinking in the sight of him.

“What were you counting?” He asked again, nodding towards the yard below.

Her eyes widened as she realised she'd ignored his first question. “Oh,” she said, “horses,” and gestured out the window.

Jon moved forwards to see for himself, and there were indeed several horses in the yard. Looking down at the embroidery on the windowsill, he realised it was a surprisingly detailed map of the yard, including several small 'blobs' where each of the horses was. He counted quickly.

“Looks like you've got them all,” he gestured to the map as he moved back.

“Yes,” Sansa replied, though she didn't sound happy about it. “it does look that way, doesn't it?”

Jon shifted his weight, feeling awkward all over again.

“Is... there something wrong?”

Sansa laughed, but it was cold and bitter and brittle, not her usual laugh, delicate and light and airy.

“Many things are wrong, but in this instance, I think it may be a benefit for me,” she smiled again, but it was a tired and worn thing.

“I'll be alright Jon, thank you,” and she reached out and put one hand on his arm, “and I'm so, _so_ sorry for the way I've treated you lately, you never deserved that. You are our brother, regardless of how much blood we do and don't share.” Her hand squeezed his arm lightly, and it was comforting. He hadn't realised, hadn't _let_ himself realise, how much her distance had stung.

He put his hand over hers before she could pull away, “nothing to forgive,” he assured her, and this time her laugh was amused in a good way.

“Forgive me anyway?”

Her smile made him feel like she was in on a joke he _should_ have been in on, but wasn't.

“Alright, you're forgiven,” he said, then tightened his grip on her hand, “and Sansa, if there's anything you need help with...” he wasn't sure what he could do, what help he could offer, but her smile was filled with genuine affection at his fumbling efforts.

“I know, you'll protect me, but I've promised myself, I won't be the wilting maiden any more,” he could see the wolf's blood in her as she stood proud before him. “I won't be helpless this time, I promise.”

“I never thought you would be,” and Jon felt he'd messed up as the brittleness came back into her demeanour.

“Thank you,” Sansa said quietly, and let him go, slipping her hand out from under his. “I have lessons to get to, I'll see you later though.”

“Of course,” he gave her a slight bow as she collected her embroidery, doing a slight double take as he noticed the work. 'I'm imagining things,' he told himself as his lady sister walked away, 'the stitching couldn't have _moved_.'

* * *

Sansa wasn't sure if she'd worried over nothing, or worried over the wrong thing.

Her Map's tracking feature allowed her to see the location of specific targets, such herself, the boss monster from the Dungeon, horses, or (as of that morning) her sister Arya.

While seeing if she could improve individual information in her Standing, Sansa had discovered that as long as she included some part of the target, like hair, any entry into the Console was automatically of a high enough rank to track them. (Also her sister loved her deeply, but thought she was a bit mad. Not that see needed a magical embroidery hoop of ineffable origin to tell her _that_.)

When she'd tracked the Chupacapybara in the Crypts, she'd only seen one dot. When she turned the tracking on for horses, she saw _all_ of them, not just the horse she'd used the hair of to create the Console entry, not just the horses of Winterfell, _all_ horses.

Adding in the fact the Chupacapybara was classified as a 'Boss' monster, Sansa was coming to the conclusion that it was either one of a kind, or the only one like it in the Crypt.

'A Boss is the person 'in charge', how does that relate to monsters though? Did it have workers? If that's the case, how? It was a beast, and why not send them after me if it did?'

Given the facts, Sansa felt there were only two explanations:

The Chupacapybara was the only 'monster' in the Crypts, or it was the worst and anything left would be less awful.

This left Sansa with a choice:  
Continue on by herself, searching the entire Crypt for the remaining Bobbins, or call in back up.

There were pros and cons to each, but in the end, what tipped the scales was time. Sansa had awoken in the Past weeks ago now, and yet all she'd done was convince her people she'd gone mad, and practice her embroidery.

* * *

“A treasure hunt?” Arya looked excited by the idea, and Sansa had to stifle a smile.

“Not for gold or jewels,” Sansa paused, “although, I can't say we _won't_ find those, what I'm looking for is a little more...” she pulled out one of the white wooden Bobbins, “my kind of treasure.”

Arya's expression shifted instantly into 'are you kidding me?' and Sansa shrugged.

“We're looking in the Crypts, for _those_?”

“Bobbins,” Sansa said as she nodded. “And yes, there's fourteen left.”

Arya continued to give Sansa a dubious look.

Sansa sighed and put her Bobbin away, “I know it's not the glorious monster hunt you were hoping for, but I'm not actually sure if the Crypts _are_ monster free.”

Arya thought for a long moment, “alright, but if we're looking for things, more eyes would be better, right?”

“Right,” Sansa agreed with a nod.

“I'll go find Jon,” Arya said, “We'll come meet you, alright?”

“Thank you Arya,” Sansa smiled, and the two sisters parted, Arya to find Jon, Sansa to collect the new cloth from her Loom.

* * *

The cloth was as two metres wide and three metres long, made from three kinds of shadows – the shadows of flickering firelight, the dappled shadows of sun through tree branches, and her own shadow made by moonlight.

It was thin and see through, in the way of low light or thick fog, but from what her Console's Loom Function said, it should do the job she needed it to.

* * *

Sansa sighed, looking from Arya with her bow and quiver to Jon with his sword and light armour, from Jon to _Robb and Theon_ with _their_ swords and light armour _._

Arya shrugged, “they were there when I found Jon and didn't want to be left out.”

'Well, _more eyes_ ,' Sansa thought and brought out her Shadow Cloth, “very well, but if you're all coming with me, you need to listen to me, this is _my_ expedition, _alright_?”

Robb and Jon nodded seriously, and Theon grinned as he nodded. He never had taken things too seriously before...

Sansa shoved the memory of _that man_ and all thoughts of him as far away as possible.

“Hopefully you'll all fit,” she said, holding up the cloth, “you four will need to hide under this until we get into the Crypts. Father has made it off limits since my... unfortunate encounter the other night.”

Jon stepped forwards to take the cloth, a look of confusion and intense interest on his face.

“What king of material _is this_?”

“Shadow,” Sansa said, then turned to head for the Crypts, pulling a few small stones from her satchel as she went. Behind her, Arya grinned and followed, used to Sansa's new behaviour, and the three boys exchanged looks before they raced to catch up.

As the came closer to the entrance to the Crypts, Sansa instructed the others to get under the cloth. Arya was at the front, one of her hands hold one of Sansa's, Jon behind her then Robb and Theon in the rear. When the guards came into view Sansa slowed and activated her Shadow Step Ability, the gasps behind her let her know that she had vanished to her siblings'.

Suppressing a grin, Sansa threw the stones in her hand, one in one direction, the next in the opposite, back and forth until the guards were nervous and looking outwards, away from the door.

She squeezed Arya's hand, and moved, the others trailing behind her unseen beneath the Shadow Cloth.

The opening of the Crypt door made both the guards jump, but the group was through before they could react.

Sansa led them deep into the Crypts and around a corner before she stopped, pulling out her unlit torch.

The others made noises of alarm as the torch flared to life with no warning, and scrambled out from under the cloth. Sansa handed the torch to Arya and took the fabric back, folding it up and sliding it into her satchel.

“This way,” Sansa said, almost wincing at the slight echo of her voice in the tunnels. She hadn't had any reason to speak in the Crypts for a while, she'd forgotten how it sounded.

“Here,” Robb reached out and took the torch from Arya, so she could have both hands free for her bow. Not that he thought she'd need it.

“I thought you were looking for things?” Theon said as they walked quickly further into the underground network, and Sansa could tell from his tone that he thought the whole thing was an exercise in folly.

“I am,” she replied, “but I've already searched this area, we're heading to where I haven't had the chance to search thoroughly yet.” She rummaged in her bag for her empty Bobbin and pulled it out to show the boys what they were looking for. “There are fourteen more of these down here, I need them.”

“What for?” Jon asked.

“That fabric I had you hide under?” Sansa said, “I made it with these Bobbins. I need them for... special fabric.”

“Can I have a cloak of that stuff?” Arya asked, sounding excited by the idea of a cloak that would make her effectively invisible.

Sansa nodded and smiled, “sure, once I figure out how to _sew_ it. I can make the fabric, but cutting and sewing it are a whole different issue. Oh,” Sansa glanced at them over her shoulder, “if you could all keep your eyes out for needles as well?”

“So,” Robb started, hesitantly, “you make magic cloth now? Is that...”

“I'm not mad,” Sansa told him, knowing what he was hedging around. “To be completely honest, I've seen the future, and it is _not_ good for our family. I've made a deal with a.... with a god.”

The four of them watched her with varying degrees of disbelief.

“' _I am your sister_ ,'” Arya said suddenly, “' _I'm just, Sansa-from-several-years-in-the-future, and I happen to be trapped in the body of my younger self_ ' That's what you said, back then.”

Sansa slowed and looked to Arya, she gave Arya a smile, but it was filled with sorrow and failing.

“What happened,” Robb asked, and Sansa wondered if any of them but Arya truly believed. Sansa stopped walking completely and turned fully to face the others.

“Every one died. I was the last of the Starks,” she looked meaningfully to Jon and Theon, then to Robb and Arya, “I was the last of our siblings. War came, the Honour of the North was nothing against the deceptions and lies and corruption of the South. Those who remained, we barely stood against the Long Night, when the Night King came south from Beyond The Wall, we were scrambling. We... I don't know if I can call it a victory. He died, Theon gave his life to help stop him, then Arya and Jon went South to stop the Mad Queen once and for all. They, they didn't come back.”

The others watched her as she watched them. She let them see the raw emotions she'd been taught to hide, let them see what the future had done to her soul.

“Robb was long gone by then, he and mother were cut down at the Twins, betrayed by the _Boltons_ and the Freys,” she spat the hated name from her lips, reluctant to even let it pass through her mouth. “Father died before that, in King's Landing after King Robert died. Rickon was killed before we could take back Winterfell from the... from Roose's son. Bran... I don't know what happened to him, not really, but he was gone before the end.”

“If you survived though,” Theon said, sounding disturbed, “why are you here?”

“I said I was the last, that I made it through the Long Night, I didn't say I _survived_. We were almost wiped out by the Night King, we had nothing left, my people were dying, starving while they waited for the promised Spring. I used an ancient magic, my life for theirs, my blood to renew the lands.”

Sansa pulled her Console from her bag, “in the place beyond death, a Being came to me. Spoke with me. We struck a deal.”

“What deal?” Robb asked, concern in his voice.

“I get the chance to do things over again, to do it better. Any powers or Abilities I can make with my sewing and embroidery skills.”

“And in exchange?” Jon asked.

“Entertainment, our lives, it's entertainment for the Being, they gave me this chance because they didn't like how 'our story' ended. They've given me the Tools to... to 'win', but I have to figure out how they work, how to use them. I've been back for weeks now, and I feel like I've done _nothing_ but figure out how this power works, I feel like I've done _nothing_ to actually prepare us for what's coming. I had a hard enough time convincing our parents that I was Green Seer.”

Sansa sighed heavily, then chuckled, “although, I didn't have Abilities I could _show_ them then.”

“Abilities?” Arya asked, “like that thing you did outside were you turned _invisible_?”

“Not invisible, technically,” Sansa said, “mostly just _really_ hard to see in the dark. But yes, that's one of the Abilities I've figured out.”

“One of?” Jon asked, eyebrows rising.

Sansa grinned and flicked her hand in the air towards one of the walls. A shower of sparks flew from her hand.

Sparkle, an ability she'd made by accident while trying to create Ignite.

“Yes,” Sansa said, trying to stifle a chuckle, “'one of'.”

“ _Teach me that_ ,” Arya whispered in awe.

“I don't know if I can,” Sansa admitted, “but if I could, it would probably take a while... and possibly some skin... hold on, let me see- oh, we keep going this way.”

Sansa pointed in the right direction and turned, shuffling down the corridor as she pulled her Pen free and ran a Fast Search.

Arya put one hand on Sansa's lower back and one hand on her elbow, to make sure her sister wouldn't walk into a wall as she became transfixed with her embroidery hoop.

“Left here,” Sansa said distractedly as they came to an intersection. They turned left.

* * *

“Huh,” Sansa said after a while, the first time she hadn't given directions since she'd begun scribbling on her embroidery cloth.

“What's huh?” Rob asked, then made a noise of annoyance as the torch began spluttering, close to the end of it's life expectancy.

Sansa looked up as the light wavered in her peripheral vision. “Oh, here,” she said as she reached out and took the torch, the light stabilising.

“Night Light,” Sansa said at the confused looks, “any light source I hold lasts longer.”

“That is _so_ cool,” Arya said, mind swimming with possibilities.

“So,” Robb said eyeing his sister with caution, “what was 'huh'?”

“Hm? Oh!” Sansa took a second while her mind caught up with the question. “So, it turns out I _can_ give other people Abilities, _but_ , there's a strong risk that anyone who did receive them would begin experiencing dreams of their 'life that was'. And... well, I don't think any of you had a peaceful death and Theon...”

“And me?” Theon asked, trying not to sound worried.

“You...” Sansa gave him an apologetic look, “were tortured, by the man who stole Winterfell. He... cut off your... manhood.”

Theon paled, his hand moving in an aborted motion to check himself.

“If it makes you feel _any_ better, Jon beat his face bloody and I fed him to his own hunting dogs. That was partly for me too. He was a bad man.”

The three boys looked horrified, Arya looked caught between horror and delight that her _lady_  sister had done such a thing.

“Maybe think about it before you decide the Abilities are worth the memories?” Sansa looked between the four of them, and all but fled down the corridor. The four exchanged looks, and hurried to catch up before Sansa (and their only light source) got too far away.

They didn't bring it up again for the rest of the night.

* * *

The large area where the Chupacapybara made its lair was devoid of any signs of life. The bones Sansa had scattered during her last visit were still scattered. She pulled out another pouch of poison goat meat just in case.

“What's that?” Robb eyed the parcel as he drew his sword. Jon and Theon also picked up on Sansa's tension and drew their blades. Arya notched an arrow ready for use.

“Poisoned goat meat, it's how I killed the monster I found down here last time.”

As the group looked around, Jon spotted something under the bones. Moving the remains carefully, he held it up for Sansa to see. With a gesture, she Ignited the torch her brother had discovered. She winced and whispered 'sorry' as she saw him flinch from the sudden fire.

With two light sources they were able to spread out more.

Jon handed his torch to Theon, who split into a pair with Robb while Jon and Arya stuck with Sansa.

“What's that pedestal?” Arya asked.

“It's where I found my new Loom,” Sansa replied. Arya wandered closer to the pedestal and frowned.

“Are the holes from the loom?”

“Holes?” Sansa made her way through the bones to take a closer look, something she hadn't done last time. The 'holes' were shallow and circular in nature, with small 'pegs' in the middle. They looked oddly familiar to Sansa.

“Twenty-one,” she said as she counted, and it clicked. Hastily, she shoved her poisoned meat pouch back into her bag, and pulled out one of the Bobbins. Carefully she placed it into one of the indents.

It fit perfectly.

“So, what does that mean?” Arya asked.

“No idea,” Sansa admitted, “but once we have all the Bobbins, I think we'll find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. The Sister Dungeon is a different one, and coming. Like Crafting.  
> Robb and Theon really did invite themselves.  
> How would you all feel about me making every tenth chapter a... an Abilities and Equipment Update list. Normal Gamer fics tend to have them at the end of every chapter, but that... annoys me, but at the same time, I feel like it would be a good idea to have updated lists every now and then? So: yes/no?  
> Also, does any one know if the words scissors has ever been used in ASOIAF/GOT? Because typing fabric shears instead of fabric scissors was weird.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some people send letters, the boys make their decision, Sansa wins a prize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editors note: I screwed up in Chapter 07 and called the Currency Golden Crowns, the only gold coin used in Westeros is the Gold Dragon, I've gone back and fixed that. I'm sorry, I should have double checked myself before I posted it.

“Ned!” Ned startled out of his sleep at the sound of his wife's voice.

“Cat? What?” He threw back the covers of his new, and hopefully temporary, bed. Rubbing his eyes as he sat up he tried to focus on his wife who stood just a short few steps away looking rather pale in the dim glow from his banked fire place.

“Sansa's vision, the one that didn't make sense, the one about the animals,” Cat shoved something at him, and despite the poor light, Ned realised it was papers with part of their family tree on it. The designs were hastily drawn, but he could see the Stark wolf and a marriage line to a Tully fish. From the Tully fish a blood line to another Tully sigil, this one had a marriage line to the sigil of House Arryn. A white falcon over a white crescent.

The Arryn sigil had a third type of line, one rarely used that denoted a ward and who they fostered under. The foster line rose from Arryn's sigil and split, one end travelling back to the Stark wolf, the other to a stag with a crown.

“I don't want to believe it but,” Cat looked like she wanted to weep, “ _family, duty, honour_ , how can I turn my back on my own daughter?”

“What is it Cat? What have you figured out?” Ned stood, moving to his wife only when she made a slight grabbing motion for him, too proud to admit she needed comfort when she was still angry with him. He took her hands in his, and waited for a sign she'd accept his touch before her curled her into a hug. “What has our daughter seen?”

“Petyr Baelish, he was fostered by my father, he... he has always had a crush on me but... His personal sigil is the mockingbird, and he's Master of Coin for the _king_.”

“A mockingbird finding gold for a golden antlered Stag,” Ned murmurred. “But that would mean-” Ned tensed as he recalled the rest of Sansa's odd vision, of the mockingbird getting it's claws into the fish – Petyr corrupting Cat's sister – and the fish poisoning the falcon, poisoning Ned's foster father Jon Arryn.

“We need to warn Jon,” Ned realised.

“But how? What about Lysa? I can't believe she would be part of this willingly.” There was a tremble in Cat's voice and she turned her head to hide her face in Ned's chest. “I don't want to believe any of this is real.”

“If Sansa's vision is literal, then Petyr will use Lysa to poison Jon, we need to warn Jon to keep her away from Baelish.”

“The gold!” Cat said with a triumphant realisation, “Sansa said, in her vision, the mocking bird was _stealing_ from the stag to give it _back_ to the stag. If we figure out a way to have someone double check Petyr's ledgers, surely that will prove one way or the other if he's been stealing from the crown, from king Robert?”

Cat moved back so she could look her husband in the eye.

He nodded slowly, “we can send a raven to Jon Arryn, tell him to look into it discretely, and let us know if there has been some... intentional errors in the ledger. We should warn him to keep his guard about him. Perhaps we should say you have some concerns, you and Lysa still keep in contact don't you?”

“We do,” Cat confirmed, getting an idea of where her husband was going with his thoughts, “I may have read something between the lines, and am concerned for my sister's health. Perhaps while lord Arryn investigates, Lysa could come for a visit? Or at least to Riverrun?”

Ned nodded, then smiled.

“Shall we wake Maester Luwin, or wait til morning?”

It took Cat a few seconds, but soon she was blushing as she realised their state of undress, Ned in only sleeping trousers, and she in nought but a heavy robe.

“Oh,” she swatted him gently and stepped from his embrace, “in the morning will be fine. Good night lord Stark.”

“Good night lady Stark,” Ned's smile dropped as his wife made for the door, to return to ~~their~~ her rooms for the night.

Sighing, Ned put the papers aside, and returned to his empty guest bed.

* * *

“Spar with me,” Theon said suddenly, as the boys were packing up to finish their combat lessons for the day.

Robb glanced over.

“Are you sure? I thought you'd want to head down to the brothel, see Ros.”

Theon shrugged, not looking Robb in the eyes.

“Just... jittery, extra energy, already got a sword in my hand,” Theon glanced over at Jon, who had paused, half way out of his training armour. “You too bas- you too Snow.”

Jon looked at Theon with that annoying, seeing, _knowing_ expression of his Theon always hated.

“Alright,” Jon said after a moment and put his armour back on, “three-way, every man for himself?”

“Training swords only,” Robb cut in, trying to be the voice of reason as he got ready to go back into the yards.

There was a seriousness to what they were doing now, a heaviness and purpose they hadn't known before, their sister's words ringing in their ears.

None of them knew how else to prepare, how to ensure the future of their people, but this was something they could do, so this is what they did.

“Should we start showing the girls a few things?” Jon asked before he took the opening swing against Robb.

“What,” said Robb as he dodged and returned the attack, following with a jab at Theon, “like sword things?”

“Good luck getting Sansa into the yard,” Theon scoffed, rapidly blocking both Robb and Jon.

“Arya would love to learn,” Jon said, “and Sansa...”

“She's changed,” Robb allowed catching Theon's sword with his own, “but has she changed _that much_?”

Jon sidestepped a thrust and swatted at Robb before defending against Theon's strike.

“I'm...” Jon stepped back again, the lunged forwards, “not sure I want to know.”

“Neither am I,” Theon admitted, and there was something like guilt in his expression.

“No,” Robb agreed.

And then they stopped talking, and the only sound in the yard was the clash of their swords until the master of arms returned to find them still at it an hour later.

“Practice is over for the day, weapons _away_!”

* * *

Bran was climbing on the roofs again. Arya could see him from her hiding place.

At this time of day, she'd normally be out and about with Sansa, sewing and practising archery. Not today though, Septa Mordane had finally put her foot down concerning the lessons Sansa was slacking off on to go riding with Arya.

Arya could hear Sansa as she sung, the sound of the harp she played and the closed wooden windows between them swallowing the exact words, turning it all into pretty noise as it filtered through the windows far below.

She hadn't heard Sansa sing in weeks, Arya realised as she let the familiar sound wash over her, not since she'd... come back in time.

Sansa had offered them a choice, the chance to learn the kinds of magics she now wielded, but the price was seeing the horrors Sansa had seen, or at least some of them.

To remember backwards into the future that wasn't, that hopefully wouldn't be.

'Yes, show me,' had been on the tip of Arya's tongue, but then Sansa had dropped her mask, and until then, Arya hadn't even realised her sister was wearing it. The sadness in her eyes, it was terrible and all consuming, and Arya didn't know how her sister could stand it.

She was fairly certain Theon and her brothers were going to say no, but Arya still wasn't sure.

Standing in the Crypts, Sansa had looked so _alone_ , so hollowed out and scared and sad and, and, and Arya didn't have the _words_ for the darkness she saw in Sansa that night.

But there was a steel in her sister now, a fire there hadn't been before, the fierceness of their wolf's blood that had been hidden by her gleaming Tully scales.

If the future had done that to Sansa, what would it do to Arya?

More importantly, which Arya was more useful?

Could _she_ be useful? Or would her future self be better? But her future self had gone to King's Landing and not come back, did that mean the Arya of the future _wasn't_ better than present Arya?

Arya rubbed her head, trying to shove the building headache from her mind.

She sighed, trying to relax to the muffled sound of Sansa's music lessons below.

Across the yard, Bran spotted her and waved, waiting only for a return wave before he scampered off.

* * *

 

_“Lord Stannis of House Baratheon of Dragonstone,_

_I apologise for contacting you for such a trivial matter when I am certain you are quite busy with your lordly duties, however, I have recently read of a cave on your lands of Dragonstone which is said to hold a wealth of Dragonglass. I would like to purchase a small amount of Dragonglass from you if you would find such a trade acceptable, as I have heard it might make quite attractive jewellery and would like to investigate the matter for myself._

_I have included a map of the approximate location of the cave based on my information, I hope you will contact me with a response regarding this matter at your earliest convenience._

_Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Eldest Daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North.”_

 

Stannis stared at the letter for several long minutes, re-reading it multiple times to be sure he was reading it correctly. With a huff he reached for his nearby quill to write his household on Dragonstone, requesting someone go investigate the alleged cave of Dragonglass.

Stannis had little patience with women and their frivolities, but it didn't do well to offend a lord's daughter, especially a daughter of one of the Wardens, even if rumours had begun circulating that she'd gone mad.

Besides, it was always good to know of his land's resources, and if there _was_ a cave of Dragonglass, and if it was worth something as a raw jewellery resource, well, all the better for him.

* * *

“Sansa?”

The young woman in question looked up from her embroidery, and smiled at her foster brother.

“Hello Theon,” she ran her eyes over him carefully, taking note of all the emotions he had on display. “You've finished thinking over the offer haven't you.”

“I, I have,” he sat down beside her, hesitation in his movements, “I'm sorry but, I don't think I could stand to remember what happened to me, I can't... I just...”

Sansa reached out and put one of her hands on his, “it's alright, I didn't think you would, that's why I warned you.”

“I... I was a good man? I did the right thing?” There was a trace of guilt in his voice, like he already knew what his future self had done _before_ the end.

“At the end, you did, you stood with us, with your family.” Sansa set her embroidery aside and turned so she was fully facing Theon. “There's something you should know, about your blood family.”

She waited and gauged his reaction, she caught a shadow of fear in his eyes.

“Your father has named your sister, Yara, as his heir,” she watched as betrayal sneered across his face, and tightened her grip on his hands. “She came for you, when _Ramsay_ had you, she risk her life and the lives of her men to come for you.”

“She came for me? But...”

“You are still her brother, even so many years apart,” Sansa gave him a reassuring smile, but he frowned again.

“'Ramsay,'” Sansa didn't quite manage to suppress a flinch as Theon repeated _that_ name. “Hes the one who tortured me, who stole Winterfell?”

“Yes.”

“You make it seem personal, fed him to his own dogs you yourself as well as me, wasn't that what you said?”

“I did,” Sansa sighed and clung to Theon's hand, “I was married twice, neither time by my own choice. He... Tyrion Lannister was a better husband then _that man_ , for all he was a dwarf with a drinking and whoring problem, Tyrion was _kinder_ by far. I was glad when _that man_ died, I know it was wrong, but watching him being eaten by his own hounds brought me _such_ satisfaction.”

“What are you going to do about him,” Theon asked with a dangerous steel in his voice, like he was already plotting vengeance.

“ _He_ is a threat to the safety of _all_ people, I don't know _how_ just yet, but I _will_ be removing him from the picture as swiftly as possible.”

“My blade is in your service,” Theon swore.

“Thank you Theon,” Sansa smiled and let herself rest against his side for a long moment.

* * *

“Do you think we should try setting up more glass gardens?” Robb asked Jon as he poured over papers filled with logistical information about the North.

“Sansa did say there weren't enough supplies before... after?” Jon paused as he tried to figure out the correct word to refer to the future that had been.

“But part of that was the wars,” Robb said, ignoring Jon's word-based conundrum. “If the wars don't happen, it might not be a problem.”

“And if they do, will the extra supplies even survive?” Jon asked, “and if they don't happen, can we afford to be complacent and _hope_ that there's enough?”

Robb paused and looked at Jon, “do you think Sansa's realised we can build more gardens and find ways to increase the stockpile of supplies, or do you think she's still going under the impression that resources are limited because there's a war on?”

Jon... didn't know how to answer that, because _surely_ Sansa had realised that.

Hadn't she?

* * *

Apparently, Sansa _hadn't_ realised.

In the torch lit Crypt late that night she stared at Robb and Jon, Theon and Arya standing nearby watching as a slow, dawning look of horror crept onto Sansa's face.

“I'm an idiot,” Sansa said at last, “I've gone and done exactly what everyone else did, too much focus on the fighting and not enough on the well being of our _people_. I can't believe this, I...”

Arya stepped forwards and wrapped her sister in hug, “it's alright, that stuff's important too, I'm sure you would have remembered eventually.”

“But would it have been in _time_ to make a difference?” Sansa said, self-recrimination in her voice.

“We should bring it up with father,” Robb said, “he already knows Sansa's 'seen' the coming winter, and extra food never goes astray. All the preparations we'll need to make for the Night King are the same ones we'll need to make for a normal winter, just... more.”

Sansa nodded slowly, immensely grateful for her siblings.

“We'll speak with him in the morning then,” she said, “thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

The boys shared a look and converged, careful to keep the torches out of the hug, they did their best to wrap the girls in their arms.

“None of that,” Jon whispered, knowing that Sansa was trying to get herself under control, to hide all the insecurities she felt and maintain the image that she _knew_ what she was doing.

* * *

“Found it!” Theon's voice called out as he knelt by a statue so old its features had begun to crumble slightly. Careful not do the statue any more damage, he worked a white Bobbin free of the stone folds were boots met cloak.

“Number twenty-one,” he said, holding it out for Sansa to take.

“Thank you Theon,” she said as she accepted the Bobbin.

“Did you bring the rest?” Arya asked, shifting from foot to foot in excitement.

Sansa nodded, “time to find out what the indents are for.”

Together, the group of five backtracked to the Lair of the Chupacapybara and approached the pedestal. With only a slight hesitation, Sansa placed the new Bobbin into an indent, then began pulling the rest from her bag, placing them one by one.

Her Console began to ping.

Lines of light began glowing along the stone surface, joining the Bobbins on the pedestal one to another.

At the centre, a glowing mass of teal light began forming. Sansa had seen this before, but the others made small noises of surprise.

Sansa lifted her Console between herself and the light, the fabric within the hoop turning clear, she pressed the fabric and the light broke apart revealing a pair of pearlescent white shears.

 

/     **Treasure Acquired!**     \  
/      **The Rending Shears**      \  
/ A Unique Treasure, they are \  
|  capable of cutting Through  |  
\    otherwise Indestructible   /  
\             materials.             /  
\                  .                   /

 

The following page of text was just confirmation of how much of the Dungeon she'd completed in so far as 'the Game' was concerned, except for the map. At least she _thought_ that's what it meant.

 

/   **The Dungeon of Winterfell**   \  
/              Status Report:              \  
/         Boss Monster: Defeated       \  
|        Monster Population: N/A        |  
\      Treasures: 21/21 Located      /  
\ Unique Treasures: 2/2 Located /  
\        Map: 67% Completed      /

 

“Well?” Arya's voice broke through her thoughts.

“Well, I think I can cut through steel now,” Sansa said as she picked up the shears. They felt surprisingly light in her hand. She slid her Console into her satchel and picked up the Bobbin with the Steel Thread, with one hand she tugged a small amount free and brought it to the shears.

They cut through the metal thread like it was nothing.

“So now you can make that thing, right?” Jon asked, referring to the blueprint for the leather that couldn't be cut.

“No, not yet,” Sansa shook her head gently as she began packing away her Bobbins, “I still need the Piercing Needle for that, but I don't think it's in here.”

“Why not?” Arya asked, helping to collect the Bobbins.

Sansa pulled her Console and checked it was still on the same page before showing Arya.

“So we've found all the treasures in the Crypts,” Arya's brow scrunched as she thought it over.

“Then where's the needle?” Robb asked.

“Probably,” Sansa said, taking back the Console, “in the Dungeon that will only unlock once I improve my archery skills enough.”

“How much is enough?” Theon asked.

“Eight out of Ten near the centre on moving targets,” Sansa replied, doing something with her Console.

 

/          **Quest: The Sweetest Crown**         \  
/ Location: Dungeon – The Golden Citadel \  
|  Requirements: Party Member Arya Stark  |  
\        Skill Level: Archery Grade Silver       /  
\    Availability: Requirements Not Met   /

 

/      Archery Grades Silver:     \  
/         At the Silver Grade,         \  
|   Archers should be able to hit  |  
\  8/10 shots to moving targets /  
\        with high accuracy.        /  
  
“Huh,” the others didn't know what else to say.

“Why am I a requirement?” Ayra asked.

Sansa shrugged, “do you remember the other day, when you were volunteering to help me with my monster problem?”

Arya nodded.

“That's when the Quest Alert popped up, you can't hear it, but my Console makes noises sometimes.”

“Where's 'The Golden Citadel' though?” Jon asked.

“No idea,” Sansa said, “I've been looking through the books in the library, but I can't find anything. Honestly, it might not have existed before now. Like the monster down here that I killed, I think the Being who sets these tasks is _creating_ the setting and creatures and treasures within.”

“That's... terrifying,” Robb said, eyeing his sister with concern.

“As the person who is _playing_ with the Being,” Sansa replied drily, “I can tell you for a fact, that you _have_ _ **no**_ _idea_.”

“I don't think I want one,” Robb said with a half-wince, half-grin. The group stilled, and Robb became solemn once more, “I, I've been thinking about your offer by the way, to have powers in exchange for remembering the future. I think you are a lot stronger than any of us gave you credit for, because I don't think I can do it, I don't think I can hold that knowledge, even if it was... I got the impression, several years less than the rest of you.”

Jon let out a deep breath, “me too," he said. "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm strong enough to carry this burden with you. I...” he shook his head, not having the words to explain his feeling on the matter.

“I know,” Sansa said after a short pause, “and thank you for being honest about it. You might not remember all the things that haven't happened yet, but having you all here and _alive_ , having our family _whole_ -” she looked at all four of them “-it makes it worth it. I can carry this because you are all with me.”

'Because I have no other choice but to do what I've always done: move forward and survive,' she doesn't say out loud.

Arya doesn't say anything, but she twines one of her hands with Sansa's, and an understanding passes between them.

“If we're finished down here, can we leave?” Theon asked, and faked a yawn, “some of us would like to sleep before lessons.”

“Alright,” Sansa nodded, “to bed with us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next week will be a double update:  
> Chapter 10: The Ability and Tool update  
> Chapter 11: a normal chapter  
> I was going to double post with chapter 10 this week, but I realised, if people weren't paying attention, they might just skip straight to the latest chapter, which would mean they'd skip the actual chapter, this way, if they skip the chapter, they'll skip the boring stuff and no actual story stuff.  
> Just a heads up, I will be including some Abilities that Sansa has picked up off screen, but I will make note of those.
> 
> Also yes, Sansa is (book) canonically musically talented, and is a Master of the High Harp as well as a gifted singer. In the show this was only just barely mentioned with occasional references to Sansa singing. (at least I don't recall any moments where she actually sung or played in the show.)


	10. Character sheet 0-9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abilities, Tools, general Stat related things.  
> This chapter contains NO STORY, so if you don't want to read about the boring list keeping minutia, just skip to chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update Chapter 1/2

**The Player :**

 

 **Name** : Sansa Stark  
**Epithet** : The Gamer  


**Well Being/Character Status:** (These are the bars found on the second page of Sansa's Character sheet)

 **Hydration/Thirst}** +10% Resistance to Thirst, +10% Boost to Thirst Recovery  
**Satiation/Hunger** } +10% Resistance to Hunger, +10% Boost to Hunger Recovery  
**Health/Damage}** +10% Resistance to Injury, +10% Bonus to Healing Speed  
**Poison Status}** +10% Resistance to ALL Poisons, +10% Boost to Poison Recovery  
**Viral Status}** +10% Resistance to Viral Infection, +10% Boost to Infection Recovery (Viral)  
**Bacterial Status}** +10% Resistance to Bacterial Infection, +10% Boost to Infection Recovery (Bacterial)  
**Rest/Exhaustion}** +10% Resistance to Exhaustion, +10% Boost to Exhaustion Recovery

 

 **Avatar** : Platinum Grade  
Bonus:  
+10% to ALL Resistance, +10 to ALL Physical Abilities  
Gamer Location Shown on Mini-Maps  
Ability Creation Auto-fill Enabled (Avatar of Gamer can be instantly inserted into Ability Creation rather than Sansa having to re-sew herself every time)

 

 

* * *

 

**Tools:**

 

** Control Items: **

**The Control Console –** a white wooden embroidery hoop which allows Sansa to create Abilities, use moving maps, and generally use her Gamer Powers. Gifted to her by an unknown Being in a place Beyond Death.  
**The Control Console Fabric Pen** – attached to the Control Console by a short chain, it is a white wooden pen with a screw cap and a pale pink ink. Sansa can use this Pen to write on any surface. It's primary use is to interact with the Control Console by selecting options or inputting questions or commands.

 

** Creation Items: **

_Loom Items:_  
**The Parcae Loom** – a unique item, it can create cloth automatically when provided with Bobbins of thread. Its link to the Control Console allows Sansa to set parameters for the Loom to follow i.e.: make a bolt of fabric his long by this wide and then stop, or, keep making fabric until I tell you to stop.

 

 _Needle Items:_  
**Needle of Eternal Thread** – the default Needle that came with the Console, it has a selection of Basic Threads which it can be automatically equipped with, as well as a Unique item called Empty Thread. Any Thread equipped to this Needle becomes endless.

 

 _Thread Items:_  
**Basic threads** – Threads that only exist when equipped to the Thread of Eternal Thread, they come in a variety of colours, Red being the default colour. (Also available in: Blue, Yellow, Grey, Black, Orange, Purple, Green , White and Clear (Clear is basically nylon fishing wire).)

 **Empty Thread** – used to make **Filled Thread** , this thread can only be equipped to the Needle of Eternal Thread and can take on the properties of anything it is assigned to, from metal to wood, from shadow to light, from heat to cold.

 

 _Bobbins:_  
**Bobbins of Eternal Thread** – much like the Needle of Eternal Thread, any thread assigned to these Bobbins will become endless. They are designed to hold Filled Threads. (Empty Thread which has taken on the properties things.) Current number: 21

 

 _Scissors/Shears Items:_  
**Rending Shears** – a pair of shears made from a pearly white material of unknown origin, they can cut through any physical substance, even materials said to be indestructible. (It cannot cut non-corporeal objects such as shadows, light or temperature without dispersing them.)

 

_ Cloth: _

**Shadow Fabric** – woven on the Parcae Loom from the shadows of flickering firelight, the shadows made from sunlight dappled through trees, and a shadow made in moonlight, it can replicate the ability of Sansa's Shadow Step ability.

 **Steel Fabric** – small test fabric made from steel thread.

 

Bobbins - stored Filled Thread:

High Quality Steel

Shadow made from flickering firelight

Shadow sunlight dappled through tree branches

Shadow cast by moonlight

Firelight

Sunlight

Warm midday breeze

Warmth of a fire

Cold Night Breeze

 

* * *

 

Functions:

**Help Guide** – contains the basics of the Gamer Situation and Control Console basics, also contains frequently searched help tips.

 **Fast Search** – basically Google, but Sansa has to write with the Fabric Pen, by writing a question Sansa can gets answers or more detailed information on a word, phrase, tool or Ability.

 **Quests** – a log of all Quests, both ongoing and Completed. Sansa can create her own Quests, or they can be assigned to her by the Being.

 **Standing** – Once a House Sigil is entered, Sansa can see the general feelings about her. Households can contain more than just the blood relatives of the house. The men at arms, the servants, the wards and the small folk an all be seen if they serve under a house that has been entered. (Currently includes: Stark, Tully, Baelish, Arryn, Baratheon, Lannister, Greyjoy.)

 **Achievements List** – A list of Achievements Sansa has Achieved. Specific (and unknown) actions are considered Achievements, Sansa has few and doesn't know much about them.

 **Character Sheet** – Sansa's general Status and Well Being can be found here. Her Status is represented by multiple bars with symbols, and no numbers are given, she is most familiar with the Rest/Exhaustion Bar.

 **Ability Trees** – a list of Sansa's Gamer Given Abilities, Sansa only has a small number of specific Abilities, but is slowly investigating and crafting more. (It is possible to grant Gamer level Abilities to non-Gamers, but they pay the price of remembering the their lives in the future Sansa came back from. Even once this has occurred, non-Gamers cannot create their own Abilities and must rely on the Gamer for any additional Abilities or Upgrades.)

 **Field Journal: Plant Diary** – a record of all the plants Sansa has seen and embroidered, connected with her Botanist Ability, it allows Sansa to call up any information on a plant with a high enough Level

 **Field Journal: Animal Diary** – a record of all the animals Sansa has seen and embroidered. Animals in the Diary can be seen on the maps if their beacon is turned on and their entry is at a high enough Level.

 **Field Journal: Bestiary** – exclusively for the Creatures found in the Dungeons, like the Animal Diary, and Creature with a high enough level can be seen on the maps.

 **Maps** – like the standard overhead maps found in video games, these maps can be moved and resized, routes can be added to the maps that can only be seen by the Gamer, and beacons can be activated to show where certain people or creatures are. In order for a Map to be Created, it must be input by Sansa, by hand. Once a map has enough accurate detail, it will auto-fill the rest, including the finer details like objects in rooms.

 

 

* * *

 

Abilities:

**Botanist** – identifies plants and their properties, at the highest levels it creates real time icons over known plants so they can be found more easily. This feature must be activated deliberately (Sansa has to _want_ to find the plants).

 **Night Light** – any source of light held by the Gamer has a prolonged life, if the Gamer drops the light source but does not intentionally douse it, the light source will keep going for at least a half-hour before dying, or until its natural life span ends.

 **Animal Handling: General** – Improves an Animal's response to the Gamer, makes animals less standoffish with the Gamer. **Platinum Bonus Abilities** : the animals come with subtitles and will fight their own instincts if those instincts would harm the Gamer/Sansa.

 **Animal Handling: Horse** – Improves Gamer's relationship with ALL horses. Current Level: Platinum.

 **Animal Handling: Dog** – Improves Gamer's relationship with ALL dogs. Despite expectations, Dog breeds do not register as their own separate sub-Ability. Current Level: Bronze

 **Animal Handling: Cat** – Improves Gamer's relationship with ALL cats. Despite expectations, Cat Breeds do not register as their own separate sub-Ability. Current Level: Bronze

 **Animal Handling: Bird (Corvids)** – Improves the Gamer's relationship with Corvid birds such as Ravens. Current Level: Platinum.

 **Animal Handling: Rodent (Rats and Mice)** – Improves Gamer's relationship with Rodents, specifically rats and mice. Current Level: Bronze.

 **Animal Handling: Wolf** – Improves Gamer's relationship with ALL wolves, including Dire Wolves. Current Level: Gold. (Stark Heritage naturally increases Animal Handling Level for Wolves)

 **Ignite** – The Gamer can start fire with her mind, this ability does NOT allow her to sustain the flame, any non-flammable material will stop burning at normal speeds. Distance: requires eyes-on-target.

 **Shadow Step** – The Gamer can move unseen for several metres. Not a true invisibility, the Gamer cannot use this Ability in full light, the darker an area, the more uncertain the lighting, the better the skill works.

 **Sparkle** – created trying to make Ignite, Sparkle lets the Gamer throw a handful of sparks/embers which quickly burn out

 **Fire Resistance** – created trying to make Ignite, Fire Resistance decreases the damage Sansa takes from fire and make her harder to burn. Level: Bronze (+10% Res' from Avatar Bonus)

 **Heat Resistance** – Automatic Branched Ability granted when Fire Resistance was created, it allows Sansa to withstand higher temperatures regardless of the presence of fire. Level: Bronze (+10% Res' from Avatar Bonus)

 **Dim Sight** – create trying to make Shadow Step, Dim Sight is the lowest form of Dark-Vision Abilities and only mildly improves Sansa's ability to see in low light. (+10% Boost from Avatar Bonus)

 **Cold Resistance** – created while talking to Theon in chapter 9, not shown. Decreases damage Sansa takes from the cold, and reduces her risk of frost bite. Level: Bronze (+10% Boost from Avatar Bonus)

 

An Important Note about  **RESISTANCES** : Resistances DO NOT stop Sansa from experiencing the stimuli she is resisting, it stops her from taking damage from that stimuli.  
FOR EXAMPLE: (at Platinum Level) if she puts her hand too close to an open fire, she will feel the heat, and will have an _awareness_ that it is dangerously hot, but she will not burn, and will not feel more heat than she can comfortably stand.

 

* * *

 

Loot:

**Blueprint: Inventory** – Blueprints are automatically uploaded to, and used from, the Console

 **Territory Map** : _Chupacapybara of the Dungeons of Winterfell_ – Territory Maps can be automatically transferred to, and used from, the Console

 **Golden Dragons x 17** – The Highest value coin used in Westeros, ( _originally listed as Golden Crowns due to Author Error_ )

 **Chupacapybara Leather** – a creamy off-white leather made from the indestructible hide of a Chupacapybara (required material for the Inventory)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> plans are made and delayed, because things are never as easy as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update Chapter 2/2

In lord Stark's Solar, Eddard and Catelyn Stark were in a meeting with Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy, and the three eldest Stark children.

Jon was trying his best not to shift nervously, off put by lady Stark's behaviour.

It had begun several days prior, but this was the first time he'd been close enough to her centre of focus to really feel the impact of it.

She was being... not _nice_ per say, but certainly less actively mean. She had even gone so far as to stop herself mid-sentence a few times, only to continue on with words less thoughtlessly cruel than Jon was used to.

For the most part though, she seemed fine to ignore him, and if he was honest, Jon much preferred to deal with _that_ than whatever this new found not-kindness was. The ignoring at least was familiar.

* * *

“Glass gardens aren't cheap,” Ned said after a moment of thought, his children's request turning his his mind. “The glass alone is... there's a reason it's been so long since a new one was constructed, why the last to be damaged was taken down rather than repaired.”

“What if we can-” Sansa spoke, her sentence catching in her throat as if she'd only realised mid-way what she was saying.

“What if you can... what?” Cat asked.

“No, I'm sorry I had a thought but I don't know if I could get glass that way,” Sansa shook her head, apparently dismissing whatever trail of thought she'd been following.

“Sansa,” Ned said, “the glass for the gardens isn't normal glass, it has to be treated and it has to be a specific thickness and it has to be layered, it's not as simple as running down to the markets.”

“So what would it take?” Robb asked, cutting in. “What would we need to do, to make a glasshouse for the winter?”

“Have a lot of gold, find a glass maker who can make layered glass with the right temperature resistance, and they're all in Lys, so you'll need a ship and merchant to get it all here. You'd a metal structure to put it all in, which is mined ores and smelting and metalwork,” Ned counted of the tasks on his fingers.

“Cleared land to put it all, builders to put it together, gardeners to start growing all the crops, you'd need to connect the hot springs to it, or the deep winter cold will eventually leech all the heat. There's nowhere within Winterfell's walls for it that's not being used for something else, you'd have to build outside them, or extend the walls, which means stone and even more man power, more ground clearing, foundations. Making sure the workers are all fed and paid.”

Ned waited for the weight of the task to begin sinking in before he continued, “and that's just _one_ glasshouse, here in Winterfell, your proposal to have every Northern House build more would mean ridiculous amounts of money and resources and work.”

'Like I don't have enough troubles with the other lords already,' Ned didn't add out loud.

Arya leaned close to Sansa and whispered something into her sister's ear, but whatever she said had Sansa frowning and shaking her head.

“More money introduced to the economy can have two effects,” Sansa said, apparently replying to whatever Arya had said, her face focused like she was trying hard to recall something from long ago. “Either we use it correctly to boost the economy, stir up new trade and spending, or we introduce _too much_ , and money becomes effectively worth less, 'if gold is so abundant, why is it worth so much.' Plus if there's suddenly that much more money, people will want to know where it came from, and it would be easier to slip in a few fake coins here and there until there's so many fakes the money has become even more worthless for the _risk_ that it's fake. It's happened before, it's the reason the Iron Bank doesn't like Westeros, well, that and the extreme debt the Crown is in.”

“Debt?” Jon asked, everyone in the room looking to Sansa, who seemed a little lost in thought.

“Hmm,” Sansa's eyes fluttered, her eyes seeming to roll back for a few seconds, “around 6 million, but only half of that is to the Iron Bank, the other half is to the Lannisters, and they're in desperate need of repayment. Did you know their mines have run dry?” Sansa made a hum of discomfort as her eyes rolled back down and her lids ceased their fluttering, she put a hand over them and steadied herself with a slow breath as Arya reached for her.

Ned and Cat shared a look, had their daughter just had a Green Dream right there in front of them? The boys looked at Sansa with concern, but she waved them off.

“I'm alright,” Sansa said. Rubbing her eyes slightly she fixed her parents with a look, “if we can gather the resources and man power to build it, may we have _permission_ to build a new glass garden?”

Ned sighed, “very well, but I can only grant you a thousand gold for this project, it won't be nearly enough.”

“We shall spend wisely,” Sansa promised.

“And I'd like to see plans before you start building,” Ned added.

“Of course father,” Robb said, “please leave this to us.”

Ned sighed in defeat, he could feel a headache building.

Still, if worse came to worst, it was only a thousand gold, the North could recover from that. _Winterfell_ could recover from that.

But... he needed to contact Jon Arryn again, _6 million in_ _ **debt**_ , how in the seven hells could the crown be _6_ _ **million**_ in **debt** _ **?!**_

* * *

“Are you alright?” Arya demanded as they left their parents behind in the solar.

“Aye, what was,” Jon fluttered his hand near his eyes, “ _that_?”

Sansa sighed, “I... perhaps... tried to find a way to improve my aim at archery and accidentally created a far-sight Ability – Long Seeking – that keeps _going off_ at random. I keep... _seeing things_ in other rooms. It is _really_ annoying.”

The group was silent for a moment.

“It was good timing though,” Theon said at last, “it looked like you were having vision about the debt.”

“It did look that way,” Robb confirmed, “I actually thought you were doing it on purpose.”

Sansa scoffed, “I _wish_ it was on purpose.” She opened the door to a random room along the hallway, it led into a currently empty sleeping chamber. She marched right up to the fire place and reached inside, her arm curling up into the flue where she seemed to grope around for a moment before withdrawing, a single soot covered gold coin in hand.

“I have no idea how to set it off deliberately, but it keeps showing me hidden things.”

“Could have used that for your bobbins,” Theon said, then winced as Sansa's eyes did the odd flutter-lidded roll again.

“Honey?” She said in confusion when it stopped.

“Honey?” Jon asked.

“Yes, I just saw a Bobbin that looked like it was floating in _honey_?”

Arya perked up, “oh, could that be the new dungeon, the sweet crown? Honey is sweet.”

“ _Sweetest_ Crown,” Sansa corrected, “but, possibly?”

“Golden Citadel,” Robb said, “ _golden_ as in honey?”

“Are...” Arya looked at Sansa, who looked back at her in slowly dawning realisation and excitement, “are we going _into_ a beehive?”

“ _How_?” Sansa whispered, not sure how they would fit. “Unless...”

“How _big_ is the hive?” Jon wondered out loud.

“It can't be that big,” Robb said.

“Someone would have reported a giant hive,” Theon agreed, but Sansa shook her head.

“The dungeons can only be entered if the Console it right there. It wouldn't be unreasonable to assume they don't exist in our world, like the seven hells or heavens, they exist apart and we can only enter if we meet the requirements.”

“So,” Jon said, confused and trying to understand, “if we went down to the Crypts _without_ the... 'Console', would the Lair and bones and pedestal still be there?”

“And more importantly,” Theon cut in, “who hides a gold coin in the _fireplace_?”

“Sansa's god?” Arya suggested.

“And what else have they hidden?” Robb asked.

Sansa made a noise of complaint as her eyes rolled back so hard her entire head tilted, her eyes fluttering so wildly her head seemed to shake.

“ _Too much!_ ” She got out, and when at last it stopped after an entire minute, she whipped forwards, fell to her knees and retched, body shuddering.

Arya darted forwards and pulled Sansa's hair back.

“I'm sorry,” Robb said.

“I'll fetch some water,” Jon said and raced from the room.

* * *

An hour later, Robb, Jon and Theon made their way through the Crypts, a hand drawn map in hand.

Jon hummed as he marked off another passage that didn't exist.

They'd all seen what the Console had said about 'dungeon completion', but was there more to the dungeon-only passageways than just making the Crypts bigger?

* * *

“So the glowing dots are the things you saw in your vision?” Arya asked as she curled into her sister's side.

The duo were in Sansa's room, Sansa under the covers of her bed as she recovered from the 'vision' in the empty bed chambers. In her lap the Console sat, a map of Winterfell clear on its surface.

“In Winterfell anyway. I think there was _way_ more, but this was all I could handle. And all I have the map for.”

“Hey, could you-” Arya slapped her hands over her mouth quickly, even as she swallowed her own words.

Wide eyed, Sansa stared at her sister, “were you just about to ask me to _find_ something?” Now that she had a clearer idea of what was setting the visions off, Sansa realised that every previous time she'd had a 'vision', she'd seen something both 'related' to the topic of conversation and with a decently close proximity.

This in turn made the description “allows the user to find their target” slightly less nonsensical.

“The Piercing Needle,” Arya admitted, and Sansa braced for the annoying head rush that... didn't come.

“Huh?” Sansa frowned, the straightened as she realised: “I know where the Golden Citadel is, and the Piercing Needle _is_ in there.”

“Yeah?” Arya asked excitedly.

“Yes, it's in the woods near where we've been practising archery, about another half hours ride, then a half hour walk through the woods and there's this old, bent tree that wraps around a cave entrance, well it's barely more than a crack in the rocks, but _you and I_ could squeeze through easily enough.”

Arya grinned, already imagining heroically slaying monsters. Her frown wobbled for a second before dimming.

“What about the boys?”

Sansa frowned, brows furrowing as she tried to recall the entrance, to get a better sense of its dimensions. She thought of the boys, currently taller and broader than herself or Arya.

“I think,” Sansa said slowly, trying to figure out how to put it delicately, “that this one if for you and me.” When it took a few seconds for Arya to catch on, Sansa gestured to her shoulders and mimed being stuck in a too small passage.

“Oh... well... more monsters for us,” Arya grinned. “Besides, there was only one monster in the last one, and you killed it with a snack, how dangerous can the 'Golden Citadel' be?”

* * *

The group had spoken together, and decided not to return to the Crypt that night to finish the map, or investigate the dungeon-only tunnels just yet.

So Sansa found herself alone in her room staring at her Bobbins.

She'd assumed there was only 21, because that's how many were in the Crypts, but now she knew there were more out there in other dungeons, she wouldn't need to be so choosy about which threads she kept.

Besides, there was one thread that she was long past due in collecting.

* * *

Not wanting to rely solely on her Shadow Step, Sansa darted through the keep with a sheet of Shadow Cloth over her, tied by the corners to hold it on. She still hadn't found a way to sew the cloth, and given the Rending Shears didn't cut the Shadow Cloth, but dissolved it like everything else she'd tried, she doubted the Piercing Needle would work when she finally got it.

They worked with steel _and_ the Chupacapybara leather. Not only did it cut solid materials with ease, the Rending Shears, despite their name, somehow fixed the cut edges so they wouldn't fray.

If she used them correctly, Sansa could do away with hemming things forever more.

Admittedly some hemming was about more than stopping woven cloth from unravelling, structural support and aesthetics were also good reasons to hem, but if she was in a hurry, or feeling lazy...

A creaking down the hall banished all stray thoughts and brought her focus back to the hallway.

She waited, but nothing moved, so she crept on, closer and closer to her parent's chambers, closer and closer to the target of her mission: the great-sword Ice.

* * *

“Sansa?” Her mother's voice caused her to flinch, and her entire family stared as Sansa startled so hard she almost threw her lunch plate.

“Yes mother,” Sansa's voice was tense, a tinge of horror in her tone.

“Are you alright?” Her mother asked, and Sansa nodded frantically despite the hysteria in her eyes.

“Fine,” Sansa smiled weakly at her mother and turned back to her lunch with a single minded focus.

Jon leaned close to Arya and asked what was wrong with their sister. Arya spent a minute trying to get her snickering under control.

“She snuck in to our parent's room last night to get Valyrian Steel thread from Ice,” Arya replied at last.

“And?” Jon asked, confused.

“And father's been allowed to return to their bed.” Arya waited a second and punctuated her statement with a waggle of her eyebrows.

The look of horror was slow to dawn on Jon's face, but when it reached full understanding Arya started laughing again.

She wasn't stupid, she'd seen the animals in the farms and kennels, and thanks to Sansa, she now _understood_ that it worked much the same between men and women, and while that conversation had been horrifying in its own right, at least _Arya_ hadn't _seen things_.

('That's what Sansa gets for sneaking around without me.')

* * *

“Do you ever feel like the children are in on something we aren't?” Ned asked his wife as they took a morning walk through Winterfell.

“As of late?” she said drily, “all the time.”

“The girls aren't going out this morning,” Ned told her, “they've said they won't be for a week at least.”

“That's odd,” Cat replied, “they were enjoying their mornings out together. Did you know Sansa's set up one of the empty rooms in the keep as a workroom?”

“A workroom?”

“Yes,” Cat nodded, “I stopped by last night and found Arya standing _still_ while Sansa was pinning cloth around her.”

Ned's brows furrowed, not quite understanding what Cat was trying to tell him.

“Our wild, dress-hating daughter was letting our lady daughter make her a dress.”

“Arya was standing still for a dress fitting?” Ned asked, unable to believe he'd understood correctly.

“Yes,” Cat frowned, “though the work I saw looked rather... _short_ for a dress.”

“A tunic perhaps?”

Cat hummed, considering the possibility, “I did also see a lovely looking skirt, though I didn't recognise the material... actually...”

“Cat?” Ned stopped walking as his wife did.

“I don't actually know where Sansa got the fabrics in that room,” Cat gave her husband a worried look, “she and I will have to have a talk later.”

Ned tentatively wrapped an arm around his wife, and when she accepted his silent support, they began walking on. Their journey took them to the training yards, to the walkway above the archer range where someone had set up a target to swing from a rope and a bizarre construct made of pole arms and benches.

They watched as one arrow missed, then another and another.

“ _Lead_ the target, shoot where it _will_ be,” Arya's voice rose up from the shooting area, and the couple shared a frown. Stepping right up to the rail so they could look down and see the shooters.

An arrow skimmed the leading edge of the target, spinning off into the wall behind as the target began to twirl. Cries of jubilation rose up, and from the archer's position a young, feminine call of delight.

Cat gasped as below, her beloved lady-like daughter jumped in place and turned to her younger sister, gesturing to the target as if she wasn't sure Arya had seen Sansa barely hit the target.

“We'll have to start your training soon,” Robb said to Bran who was clapping for his sister's victory.

Ned and Cat watched as the jubilation died down and one of the men-at-arms steadied the target, darting out of the way as Sansa went back to shooting. Below them, they could hear several men claiming they could also hit a swinging target, another voice – Sir Rodrik Cassel's voice – called back, telling them to prove it when the lady was finished.

They watched their daughter shoot for almost half an hour, getting slowly better. By the end of the training she was able to hit the target's edge once out of every ten shots, and they got the feeling Sansa would have continued if Sir Rodrik hadn't told her to stop.

“Don't think I haven't noticed you trying to ease your shoulder,” he said, stepping forward, “archery is not for a weak man's arms, it's certainly not for a lady,” Arya snorted, but he ignored her. “I know you and your sister have been training on your mornings out, but you'll pull a muscle if you don't stop now.”

Rodrik glowered at Sansa's left shoulder as she tried to subtly move it, “take yourself off to Maester Luwin, you'll want something for the muscles. There's no need to push so hard my lady, we're perfectly capable of defending you.”

Sansa smiled at the man, “I know Sir Rodrik, I'm not about to pick up a sword and become my own knight-”

“I would,” Arya said.

“-but Winter is Coming, as much as I appreciate you and your men, and as much as I trust you all to defend us and Winterfell to the last I... if I can do _something_ to give myself even a few more seconds while help comes...”

Sansa had gone pale, her breath coming in short, she winced and put a hand to her shoulder. The bow she'd been holding slipping from her grip, but Arya was there to catch it before it could fall.

“Hey,” she said quietly to her older sister, and Sansa's face snapped around. Sansa's next breath was deep, like whatever had been holding her lungs had let go. “Come on, let's see Maester Luwin.”

Sansa gave a shaky smile, “don't you want to show off first?”

Arya looked thoughtfully at the still swinging target, then to the bow in her hand. She plucked an arrow from the quiver on her sister's hips and knocked the arrow, pulling back in a smooth motion that would always look unfair on her small, almost dainty frame.

Less than a second later, the arrow was sitting deep in the centre of the target, which now wobbled back and forth as it swung.

“There,” Arya said proudly, “ _now_ let's get you to Maester Luwin.”

“Alright,” Sansa allowed as Arya began dragging her from the yard, “you boys have fun,” she called back over her shoulder to Theon and her brothers.

“Yep,” Jon called back with a wave before turning to Bran. “We'll start you off on one that _doesn't_ move.”

Bran nodded enthusiastically while Rodrik turned to the men who'd stuck around to watch.

“Right, the rest of you: _line up_!” He pointed to the swinging target, “unless you're fine to let the young ladies show you up. No one leaves until they've hit the centre, _thrice_!”

* * *

Sansa hissed as Luwin massaged a liniment into her shoulder.

“I believe, my lady,” he said with a voice full of judgement, “that we _have_ covered torn muscles.”

“Yes Maester Luwin, I'm sorry, I knew better and did it anyway,” Sansa admitted between gritted teeth.

“Well, it's not torn, thank the gods,” he said as he finished working the ointment into the skin. He wiped his hands clean on a cloth and picked up the jar he'd taken the liniment from. “Twice a day, no archery for six.”

Both sisters gasped and looked set to argue, but Sansa _had_ learned about muscles and realised how close she was to doing _worse_ damage to herself.

“Yes Maester Luwin,” she nodded, and did her best to recall what she knew. “Rest the muscles and apply cold to reduce swelling, milk of the poppy if the pain becomes too much, and low heat only once the pain has _naturally_ begun to fade, followed by _light_ exercises to restore movement.”

“Good girl, I'll expect you for lessons later, we will be going over the signs of muscle damage,” he gave Sansa a meaningful look and Sansa nodded, blushing.

“Yes Maester Luwin,” she said, abashed.

“We're done then?” Arya asked, unsure, and both Luwin and Sansa nodded. At Sansa's wince, Arya stepped forward to help her fix her dress, pulling her sleeves back up and retying the laces at the back.

“Thank you,” Sansa said when she stood, “and thank you Maester Luwin.”

Sansa accepted the liniment before they left, stepping back into the hall she winced again.

“Well that was stupid of me. Sorry,” she said to her sister.

“You're the one injured,” Arya said, not sure why _Sansa_ was apologising.

“Yes, but now it will be at least six extra days before we can get to the Golden Citadel.”

“Ooohhhh... oh yeah,” Arya pouted, but shrugged. “I don't think it's going anywhere.”

“True... probably,” Sansa agreed, “now, I actually have some thread made from cold night wind that might make a good cold press.”

“That's handy,” Arya said, following her sister to the new workroom their mother had allowed her to set up in the keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is a few hours later than originally intended, I got pulled down a research spiral double checking some facts. While I was doing a final edit (I Know I've probably missed something), a bit of a quibble started up in the reviews and one thing that was brought up is something I've been debating with myself, so I turn to you, my readers:  
> Domeric Bolton is the trueborn son of Roose Bolton and his second wife Bethany Ryswell, he died in 297 AC from ahem, 'bad bowels', which is to say, there's a good chance Ramsay poisoned him to make it look like he died of, I assume, dysentery or some such illness.  
> Game of Thrones (not including the opening scene beyond the wall) is set in 298 AC. I've dropped a couple of subtle context clues, but Sansa was returned to 297 AC.  
> Ramsay WILL be dying, (Myranda needs to go as well,) Roose is on thin bloody ice (pun intended) So: hands up - saving Domeric Bolton? Yay or Nay?  
> Just an FYI for the show only fans, Domeric was a friendly history nerd who played the harp, rode horses 'like he was born in the saddle', was squired to lord Redfort in the Vale and was somewhere between 16-24 when he died in the Dreadfort. His exact date of birth is unknown.  
> If he's getting saved it will need to be soon... *gasp* timed quest!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa receives a Quest, it's both more and less impressive than it sounds.  
> (Sansa struggles alone in a hall of memories)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I took so long with this chapter. I realise I should have broken it into normal sized chapters, but I wanted to do the arc all together.  
> Joke's on me, this monster hit nearly 15,000 words pre-editing, that's like, slightly less than half of the chapter 1-11 words count. (O_O)!  
> WARNING for bullshit medicine, bodily functions and Ramsay Bolton.  
> Also, I don't know if anyone else has ever had their page refresh while doing an edit in the AO3 page, but oh my gosh! So annoying! *maniacal laughing* 15,000 words!!!

In the workroom, under Sansa's instruction, Arya carefully wrapped the length of cloth around her sister's shoulder, tucking in the end of the fabric so the cold-press was secure.

“Thank you,” Sansa said as she eased her sleeves back on.

“That'll get annoying,” Arya replied instead of 'you're welcome.'

Sansa made a quiet hum, a calculating look in her eye, and moved to look through her odds and ends for some paper. “If I make it one shouldered, maybe with a cape that has a belt...?” Arya watched as Sansa used her Pen to sketch the outline of a bust, drawing in the pattern of a dress with only one wide-but-sleeveless shoulder strap.

A second drawing joined it, but this one had a short cape that only went halfway down the arms.

“No, then my forearms would be cold...” Sansa messed around with the pictures, drawing several more all with various adjustments, but she didn't seem happy with any of them. She dumped the cape idea entirely and began sketching out a very loose top which had only a single lacing at the front and seemed to be intended to slip on and off with little effort.

Arya shifted so she could see the picture at a better angle, and realised it was a jacket of some kind. Sansa sighed, seemingly not happy with the jacket design either.

“Oh, by the way,” Arya said, as her sister's brow furrowed, “I was thinking...” Sansa set her work aside and turned to give Arya her full attention.

“About anything in particular, or just in general,” Sansa asked.

“About what you said in the yard, 'if I can do something to give myself even a few more seconds while help comes,'” Arya quoted, “because, do you remember when that cat moved into the kitchens?”

Sansa frowned and shook her head, it had been longer for her than it had been for Arya, and Sansa hadn't paid much attention the first time anyway.

“Well,” Arya dismissed Sansa's ignorance of the matter, “one did, and it scratched some of the guards when they tried to remove it, so I was thinking, what if you could have claws like a cat, because no-one can take on a cat without flinching.”

“Huh, that's a _really_ good idea Arya, thank you,” Sansa moved to retrieve her Console and went to work. Curious, Arya leaned over Sansa's good shoulder to watch. After so many lessons with Sansa, she was able to recognise the simple stem stitch her sister did to create the simplest five-lines-and-a-circle to represent a hand. Sansa stuck her needle into the cloth when she was finished and made a tapping gesture.

Arya gasped, the so-basic-you-could-barely-call-them-hands were replaced by what looked like smaller versions of Sansa's real hands. It took a few seconds of hard looking to see the impossibly fine stitches that made the picture.

“Arya?” Sansa had turned to her, “could you grab me a steel Bobbin please?”

“Sure, Valyrian or normal?” Arya asked as she walked over to the small chest where Sansa had been keeping her magical Bobbins.

“Hmmm, Valyrian please, we might as well go all in.”

Arya pulled out the chosen Bobbin, idly noting the bolt of cloth made from the same thread.

“What are you going to do with the fabric you made from this?” She asked as she handed the spool of steel over.

“Honestly? I don't know,” Sansa admitted, “I had been planning on asking Mikken to melt it down and forge some new blades but...”

“That's a great idea!” Arya said, but Sansa shook her head.

“Unfortunately, it turns out Valyrian steel is _spell-forged_ , it takes a special understanding of the steel to melt it down _and_ reforge it without loosing the enchantments that make it special. I already asked Mikken and he said he wasn't confident in his ability to do it. I mean, we _have_ an unlimited supply, by if word gets out that we have enough Valyrian Steel to waste on experiments? We'd have spies and thieves sniffing all over the place.”

Arya grimaced as she pictured it, settling back at Sansa's shoulder as the elder girl readier her thread and needle.

Sansa began her stitch from the back, from beneath the Console, a short distance from the image of the nail she'd chosen to work on. She brought the stitch back towards the nail and took the thread back down just barely within the area of the nail on the Console's picture.

Her next stitch came up to the left of the first, as close as it could be, but ever so slightly closer to the nail than the first had been. When she took this stitch down, it was on the _right_ of the original stitch, as close as it could be.

The third stitch came up through the fabric as close as possible to the original stitch, this time to its right, in line with the second, it was also ever so slightly closer to the nail than the first. Like the second, it crossed over the first before going back through the fabric.

Up through the left, down on the right, up on the right, down on the left, each stitch close together fed more and more into the image. Arya watched as a sharp pointed nail took shape over the top of Sansa's carefully trimmed and rounded nails.

On the Console at least, her real nails remained unchanged.

“Herring bone?” Arya asked as Sansa finished sewing the first nail.

“Yes, well spotted,” Sansa smiled, and Arya shrugged off the praise, though she felt the heat in her cheeks and was sure Sansa noticed the embarrassed blush. “Oh, that's nice.”

“Hm?” Arya returned her attention to the Console, which now read [Apply Alteration to all of _same_?] Sansa took her Pen and wrote [Yes] near the question, and the fabric seemed to warp for a moment.

When it settled, the previously untouched fingernails in the image also had the sharp looking Valyrian Steel overcoats.

[Submit Ability?]

'Yes'

 

/         **New Ability** :        \  
/            **Manicure** \  
|     At will, the user can     |  
\ manifest nails made of: /  
\        Valyrian Steel.      /

 

Sansa put the Console down in her lap and held up her hands. Focusing on them, she flexed her fingers, and between one instance and the next, her fingernails were made of thin, sharp Valyrian steel.

Arya darted over to the work bench where paper was sitting in a mess, she grabbed one sheet with nothing on it and held it out carefully. Sansa reached out and touched the paper with her new nails.

Though she was using almost no pressure to speak of, her nails slid through the paper with no resistance.

“Be careful not to scratch yourself with those,” Arya said, a delighted smile on her face. Wide eyed but grinning, Sansa nodded in agreement.

“So, what else does your Console do anyway?” Arya asked, eyeing Sansa through the hole in the paper.

“Want to take a look?” Sansa asked, dismissing her steel nails with a twitch of her fingers.

“Yeah,” Arya tossed the paper carelessly and all but plastered herself to her sister's back as Sansa showed her the ins and outs of the Console.

* * *

“Wait,” Arya said, head tilting, “what are those two for?” She reached down to poke at the surface of Sansa's Console, the bars of the Character Sheet on display.

The bar with the bloody knife beside it was missing a few strands from its filling stitches, a small gap showing between the colour and the thin black border, but Sansa suspected, based on the normal indicator word which had changed from Uninjured to Injured, that that was in response to her pulled muscle.

Arya bypassed the depleted bar and pointed to the two with the strange _things_ beside them.

“Uh, those are...” Sansa looked at the bars. 'Uninfected' they both read. “Well, those have to do with the sickness, you know how some wounds rot?”

“Yeah?”

“Like that, I think.”

Arya raised her eyebrows.

“You _think_?” Arya poked her sister gently in the cheek as the older girl's cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“There's been a lot going on, things to figure out,” Sansa explained, the hint of a whine in her voice, “I just... haven't gotten around to this yet. Honestly I kind of... forgot about it.”

Arya snorted in disbelief as Sansa huffed and took up her Pen. She circled the two symbols and added a query. 'What are these?'

 

/                         **Bacterial and Viral health indicators** \  
/            Bacteria and Viruses are so tiny they cannot be seen             \  
|        with the naked eye. Thousands of times smaller than even         |  
\ the smallest grain of sand, they enter the body and cause sickness. /  
\                     Resistance/Recovery bonus: +10% to All                    /

 

The sisters shared a confused look, and Sansa made more queries. Most of the words made no sense, but Sansa got the impression that there was both Good and Bad Bacteria, but all viruses were Bad.

Maybe.

“I wonder if Maester Luwin knows more about these,” Sansa said, turning to Arya who had a glazed look in her eyes. Letting her sister come back to reality in her own time, Sansa contemplated the Console and switched to a clean canvas.

Quickly she stitched in two stick figures and auto-filled them with herself, one in the top half of the Console, and one in the bottom, both with hands outstretched.

Next she did her best to replicate the symbols from her Character sheet, two bacteria, and one virus across from each picture of her.

She chose one bacteria on the top and bottom, and stitched a vague impression of an angry face next to it. The other pair of bacteria got a nice looking face.

To the pictures of herself she took some Empty thread and filled it with the gentle sunlight shining through her window, using it to show a force coming from her hands to hit the bacteria and virus. She finished the picture by using her Basic Red Thread to cross out the angry bacteria and the virus in the second panel, leaving the nice one alone.

'submit'

 

/                     **New Ability:**                    \  
/           **Cleansing Touch – Infection**        \  
|        The user can Negatively Impact       |  
\    Harmful Bacterial or Viral Infections   /  
\  while Bolstering the Immune System. /

 

Sansa grinned, and turned her hands to her injured shoulder. A faint glow of sunlight spilled from her palms and caressed her shoulder. She stopped after a few seconds, feeling no different.

'Oh,' she realised, 'but I wasn't infected to begin with, so it wouldn't do anything anyway.' She sighed and shrugged.

“Ow!”

“Are you alright?” Arya asked, snapping out of her daze.

“Yes, I'm alright,” Sansa winced, more embarrassed than hurt, “I forgot about my shoulder and shrugged.”

“...why?”

Instead of words, Sansa answered by holding up her Console for Arya to see.

“That's... good?” Arya said unsure.

“It means I can make people less sick, if it's not poison or natural age anyway. I think.”

“You _think_?” Arya teased.

“I'm _fairly certain_ ,” Sansa retorted. “Which of us actually managed to get through the information?”

“Did you you though?” Arya asked.

Sansa nodded, “I even understood some of it.” The sisters shared a look before bursting into giggles.

* * *

“Sansa,” Catelyn called out to her daughter as she opened the door to Sansa's new work room.

“Mother,” her eldest daughter responded, looking up from her work. Arya stood beside her sister at the table, she waved in greeting.

“May I come in?” Cat asked from the doorway.

“Of course,” Sansa said, smiling, “in fact, feel free to stay and help.”

A brief furrow marred Cat's eyebrows as she stepped inside, but it left as she stepped closer to the table where her daughters worked. A spread piece of woollen fabric covered the table, undyed and unmarked except for a pattern of pink outlines.

“A dress?” Cat guessed, but there was something... off about a few of the pieces.

“Yes,” Sansa confirmed and pointed to a sheaf of papers nearby. “I've come up with a design I think _might_ work.”

“She's come up with several,” Arya corrected, “this is just the one that's made it this far.”

Cat examined the papers. The dress had only one sleeve, normal length down to the wrist, the other sleeve was missing entirely, the neckline cutting away to curve under the arm. There was another garment, of a sort. A single sleeve attached to a jacket that was missing the opposite side to the dress, straps and buckled sketched in.

Cat could see how it was supposed to work, the separate sleeve strapping on like an archer's chest guard, covering for the dress's missing sleeve. The question was 'why?'

Sansa answered without Cat even asking.

“I hurt myself this morning and have to keep applying and removing a cold press, and it's getting inconvenient to keep taking my upper dress off, I though this might work better.”

“Should you be using your arm?” Cat asked, “that archery this morning look strenuous.”

The girls blanched, but recovered quickly enough.

“I don't know why we thought you wouldn't find out,” Sansa admitted with an aborted duck of her head, “we were literally right there in the public yard.”

“We actually got to see some of your practice,” Cat admitted, “you did very well, and Arya... I had no idea you'd gotten so gifted with the bow.”

Arya shrugged, “I've been practising for two years,” she admitted, blushing at the praise but nervously waiting for her mother's wrath.

Cat didn't berate her daughters though, she stepped up to the table and asked how she could help with the experimental design.

As Sansa and Arya explained how they wanted to craft it, Cat tried not to be thrown by how mature her daughters were. Sansa more so than Arya, but that had always been the way.

But there was something different about it now, and Cat was reminded that she was not of the North as her daughters were. While there were times when Catelyn Stark considered herself a Northern Lady, adapted for the most part to the strange Northern lands, there were other moments when she remembered that The North was _different_ in a subtle, ancient and unknowable way.

She was learning day by day, second by second, but she would never be _of The North_ as her children were, as her husband was. She could only do her best and hold fast to her family through the trials the Gods sent her way.

* * *

It was late at night, and she should have been sleeping, but the ache of her muscles kept Sansa from slipping under. For the most part it was a dull and constant thing, but every so often a sharp stab of fresh pain would jolt through her shoulder.

It was better when she wasn't thinking about it, so she struggled up, trying to push herself to a sitting position with one hand, while avoiding getting tangled in her blankets and furs. Sansa bit back a hiss of pain as her muscles pulled just so, and a small wave of agony flooded outward.

She'd had worse, in the future that hopefully wouldn't come. She knew she'd felt more pain than this, but somehow (and this was another thing she was familiar with), the memory of pain never seemed to compare with the actual experience. She sat in her bed, trying to just _breathe through the pain_.

She thought of her Console, and entertained the idea of getting out of bed to collect it, by was reluctant to actually _get_ out of bed to get it. Sansa shifted slightly, and a small weight made itself known on her lap.

She startled, not quite enough to jar her aching shoulder again, and looked down. Her Console sat upon her lap, strangely visible in the darkness of her room as it always was when she focused on it.

She recalled, suddenly, the first day she had awoken in the past, how the Console had moved by itself until she'd told it to wait.

'Useful,' Sansa thought, and slowly pulled her Needle free of the cloth. Her mind turned over what she could do, what she might craft. Eventually it settled heavily on an idea she'd been putting off for a while.

The Console had a Function called Standing, which allowed her to see the opinions of other houses, mostly concerning herself, but it also showed allegiances between Houses as well. She and her siblings had begun their plans for preparing the North – she really should check up on how things were progressing further South – and it would be a good idea to see how the other Houses were reacting to what was going on, and what was going to be happening.

But that would mean _his_ house, embroidering _his_ sigil.

She recalled standing at the cage and feeling a growing bravery, she remembered putting him behind her and moving forward. Sansa knew she should be stronger, less afraid, because she had been stronger and less afraid, but...

It was easy to be brave in the face of the memory of a dead man.

Here and now, _he_ was very much alive.

Steeling herself, Sansa made sure her Needle was equipped with the Basic Black Thread, and began stitching the outline of an X with a back stitch, making sure to mark in where the red would go.

The Boltons were too much of a risk to go unmonitored, too much of a threat.

It didn't take long for her to finish the Bolton House Sigil, for the notation that she could now see their opinions in the Standing section.

But then something odd happened.

 

/                                 **Urgent Quest!**                                \  
/                                  **Dread in the Fort**                                 \  
|          Time Remaining to Failure: 83 Hours 24 Minutes        |  
| Domeric Bolton has fallen ill but the Maesters have no cure |  
\                      Save Domeric before it's too late                    /  
\           Location: The Dreadfort, The North, Westeros         /

 

'That's... impossible!' Sansa gaped, The Dreadfort was _350_ _miles away!_ Nothing could get there in... in the three days she'd been given. Even Ravens took 2 to 3 days to get there.

Sansa stabbed her Needle into the cloth and reached for her Pen.

'How do I cross vast distances quickly?'

 

/  Tack of Fast Travel* \  
/ Boots of League Steps \  
|    Cloak of Maelstrom    |  
\  Tapestry of Doorways /  
\                .                 /

 

/                Tack of Fast Travel                 \  
/  Blueprint Pattern for this item not found \  
|   Would you like to **purchase** this Pattern  |  
\                   Cost: 15 Tokens                    /  
\                  Current Tokens: 0                /

 

Sansa frowned, examining all of the options the Console had given her, but none of the patterns were available. They did all list materials needed to 'Craft' them, but the Tack of Fast Travel was the only one with a complete list of things she recognised.

A small amount of Valyrian Steel - which she had the equivalent of in cloth, having made several stretches of the metal fabric before she'd found out from the Blacksmith Mikken the _spell-forged_ steel could only be recast by a smith who knew the secrets, which he was not.

A fast wind – also something she had in cloth form, having experimented briefly with combining material and non-material threads, she'd had her Loom create a bolt of pure wind that she kept locked in a chest since it kept trying to fly off.

Moonlight – a fabric she had less of, her efforts to make lanterns from it being put aside in pursuit of other things.

Chupacapybara Leather – This was something of a problem. Sansa had used her Rending Shears to cut out the blueprint pattern for the Inventory from the hide she had received from the Chupacapybara itself, and though she still had scraps, the remains weren't anywhere near enough for the Tack.

'Unless I make cloth from it?' Sansa thought as she shuffled out of bed to find her slippers and a robe. 'I can set the Loom to produce a few lengths. I should have thought of this earlier, I can't believe I was so distracted by the metal...'

Sansa hurried from her room, down along the corridor to her sister's room. Once Sansa had set up the Loom, she'd be going on a treasure hunt, and she'd need a second pair of eyes and hands.

And Arya would be furious to be left out.

* * *

“Got it!” Arya whispered, sliding back down the chimney, swinging carefully out of the way of the banked embers of the kitchen's fire. Soot covered, she held up a small coin-like object for Sansa to see.

“Perfect,” Sansa grinned, “just a few more to go.”

Tokens. Something Sansa hadn't realised existed until she'd accidentally searched the entirety of Winterfell with her Long Seeking. Until the Console had given her the price of the Tack, she hadn't known what they were for.

If she had, she might have collected them sooner. Instead, she and Arya made their way through Winterfell in the dark hours of the night that were essentially morning.

Sansa had thought to split up, but their first attempt at that hadn't gone quite so well. The Tokens, and possibly all the hidden items, were like the Dungeons: they only appeared when the Console was close enough.

A fact they learned when Sansa had gone to find Arya after the younger had not arrived at their meeting point to receive the second location, and Arya had watched the Token materialise before her very eyes.

* * *

Arya and Sansa darted across the yards of Winterfell, passing several night guards.

“Ah, mi'ladies!”

“Sorry, can't stop!” They duo rushed on, making their way to the old tower.

“Should... should we be following them?” Hendrick ask Thom, who only shook his head as the girls disappeared through an archway.

* * *

“Oh!” Enid plastered herself against a wall as the Stark sisters hurried along a corridor, soot on their faces and clothing, hay in their hair. Neither dressed to be in public.

“Sorry!”

“Good morning, excuse us.”

“I... yes? Of course, good... morning?” The Starks were gone before the young maid finished replying. Enid stood against the wall for a few moments more before she realised she would be late to the kitchens to start the morning baking if she loitered any further.

* * *

Sansa sat as still as she could as she sewed a copy of the Dreadfort map, her sister braiding her hair while they waited for the last of the required materials.

The Parcae Loom clacked rapidly as the leather cloth spewed forth, piling onto the bench before it. The other materials were neatly folded on an empty space nearby, the Valyrian Steel cloth holding down the still rustling wind fabric.

As Arya finished tying off Sansa's hair, the Loom slowed and stopped, the required fabric finished.

Nervously, Sansa stood, and walked to the materials. She took her Console and raised it before her, directing it to the pile of Tokens they'd retrieved once the cloth turned clear. The Tokens glowed, the familiar teal light enshrouding them, and they vanished in a quiet pop.

She could purchase the Tack's blueprint at last.

As soon as he purchased the blueprint, her Console lit up with alerts. She'd completed an Achievement by making her first Token Purchase, she'd also unlocked Auto-Crafting. As long as he had the materials, the magic of the Console would construct the item for her.

But she only had one free cheat. According to the information the Console supplied, she would normally need the Tools that would be used to construct the item manually, but she could pay additional Tokens to compensate. This was good for Sansa, since the Tool she was missing was the Piercing Needle, and Winterfell had enough to pay for the blueprint, the missing Needle, with two Tokens left over.

(Sansa did not like the idea of needing Tokens, it seemed **exactly** like the kind of thing that would bite her when she least expected it, and when she couldn't afford the cost.)

As she relayed all this to Arya, Sansa admitted that she'd been planning to try poking the _tiniest_ holes possible into the cloth with her Rending Shears and hoping for the best.

Arya lasted almost an entire ten seconds before she began laughing at her sister.

“Arya!” Sansa huffed, shaking her head as she refocused her attention on the crafting. Sansa did her best to get all of the materials as compact as possible, uncertain if the exact framing of the Console's hoop would affect what was affected. She made sure to stand back far enough to get everything in the frame just in case, and the four types of material were covered in the teal glow of the Console's magic.

The glowing mound wiggled and warped, stretched and changed and faded, leaving behind a magnificent looking saddle and bridle, a saddle blanket folded beneath a small pair of saddle bags, various straps and strings coiled and tucked away and around the other equipment.

Arya gave a low, impressed whistle, “that's some nice looking gear. What do you need it for anyway?”

Sansa froze, realising that she hadn't actually told her sister anything beyond the treasure hunt for the Tokens.

“I need to go somewhere for a few days, and I need to get there as swiftly as possible,” she said slowly, “I don't know when I'll be back.”

She saw the suspicion bloom on Arya's face.

“Go _where_?” the younger girl turned to her sister, “and what for?”

Arya watched as her sister took a deep breath, drawing herself up. She could see Sansa preparing for what she was about to say, in the little movements, in the set of her shoulders. It was like watching one of the soldiers put on his armour, somehow.

“I received a Quest last night,” Sansa admitted, bracing herself for the backlash. “It is time sensitive; I have less than three days to get to the Dreadfort and save the life of Domeric Bolton, Roose Bolton's true born heir.”

“I thought we hated the Boltons?” Arya said, uncertain. She'd picked up on the hints that Sansa had dropped, most of them not subtle in anyway.

“We do,” Sansa replied, “and saving Domeric, if I _can_ save him, I don't know how it will change the playing field, I don't know much about him, but I remember Roose and... and _Ramsay_ talking about him once. They called him soft, the way they spoke, I don't think he's the same kind of monster as his half brother, as his father. If I can ensure the heir to House Bolton is someone we might be able to ally with... _I_ **c** _ **an't** let Ramsay become the heir again_. I **have** to try, and I know better than anyone that the evil you know may be safer than the evil you don't, but... Ramsay _hated_ Domeric, and if Ramsay hates someone... I think I want them on my side.”

Arya was quiet for a moment, then: “Alright, when do we leave?”

“ **No**!” The venom in Sansa's voice startled Arya, the younger girl taking a step back in surprise. “No, the Dreadfort, House Bolton? It is the heart of men's evil, it is a place of darkness and I _will not_ take you there. I can't risk it, I can't risk _you_. Please don't make me lose you again.”

Everything in Arya demanded she argue, that she carry on until Sansa relented, but there was a grief and a terror in Sansa's eyes that went so deep Arya thought it might have no end. It scared her.

“Alright,” Arya nodded, “I'll... I'll stay here and... make sure the boys are working on the Glasshouse site, and... stuff...”

Her eyes widened as Sansa threw her arms around Arya's shoulders, pulling her sister close.

“Thank you, _thank you_!”

“You'll need supplies, and... Gods, we should get you armour,” Arya said, voice muffled by her sister's shoulder. “And a weapon, oh, take the Shadow Cloth, or some _guards_!”

“They'd never keep up without a Tack of Fast Travel, I don't think anyway,” Sansa said as she pulled back, wiping tears from her face quickly. “And I don't know if I have time to wait around for the materials to make more.”

“I hate this plan,” Arya said seriously.

“Me too,” Sansa replied.

“... do you actually _have_ a plan?”

“...yes?”

“ _Oh my **Gods**_!”

* * *

Hullen was tending to the horses when Sansa and Arya entered before the sun rose. It had been several days since he'd seen them in this early.

“Good morning young ladies, I wasn't informed you'd be going out again?”

“Ah, yes,” Sansa replied demurely, smiling at the Master of Horse, “it's actually just me this morning, I want to try a new tack I've just...”

“Oh that looks fancy,” Hullen said at the sight of the pale, creamy looking leather. “Would you like a hand putting it on? I heard you'd injured your shoulder, should you be riding with it?”

“Your help would be greatly appreciated, Master Hullen,” Sansa said as Arya held out the saddle for the man to take. “My shoulder is a little sore, but I should be fine to ride a short distance, I'd just like to ride outside the walls and back.”

“Of course,” he led them to the stall where Sansa's horse stood. A simple Palfrey, he edged forward when he saw them coming, curious about the strange new saddle.

'Odd smell, strange sitting hide, nice girl came for riding?'

“Hello boy,” Sansa said, hiding a smile as the words scrolled through the air. “We're going on a bit of a ride today, and I need you to very extra clever, alright?” She slid the bit and bridle on, strapping them in place as Arya and Hullen worked to affix the blanket and saddle.

Arya darted under the horse's neck to hand the other end of the breast collar to Hullen, accidentally brushing against Sansa as she returned to her own side to adjust the various straps and buckles.

When they were finished, Hullen lead the horse and the young ladies out of the stable and towards the main gate. Hullen spoke to the guards on the gate, explaining the lady Sansa only wanted to go for a quick trot outside and back, not paying any attention to the two girls whispering to one another by the horse.

While the guards opened the gate, Hullen assisted Sansa into the saddle, trying not to let his surprise show when Sansa swung her leg over and her skirt visibly spilt.

Only, it hadn't split at all, he realised, what he had taken for a skirt was in fact a pair of trousers, billowed and loose in the leg to look like a skirt when the lady was standing.

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” Sansa said to her sister, and Arya scowled.

“Fine.”

Hullen frowned at the younger Stark's sudden sour mood. “Just remember, his life if not worth yours? Let him die if you have to, we'll figure it out.”

Hullen and the nearby guards gaped at the girl, but Sansa gave only a single, stern nod.

“I'll be back,” Sansa vowed, then clicked her tongue and touched her heels to her horse's sides, and they were off. The horse's trot sped into a canter, then a gallop, and far before they should have, lady and horse vanished across the hills.

“Whe-where did, how did?” One of the guards stuttered, unable to believe what he'd just seen, the sheer speed of the horse as it all but flew down the road.

“To save a man who might not be worth saving,” Arya spat, “ _without me_.”

The young girl spun on her heel and marched angrily back towards the keep, leaving the very confused men in her wake.

* * *

Everything went faster and slower.

The horse beneath her certainly noticed something was strange about the land around them, but it couldn't understand that each step was eating up more ground than it should have. They seemed to slow in some places, where they had to make trickier manoeuvres than just 'straight ahead', and Sansa felt her shoulder throb with every hoofbeat.

They rode north along the Kingsroad until it drew close to the White Knife, there they broke east over the river crossing, the waters of the White Knife barely hushed in her ears before they were leaving them behind.

North and east around the forest Hornwood, they circled north around the river end of the Weeping Water, and at last the Dreadfort loomed before them. Sansa slowed her horse and directed it into the woods a fair distance from the castle.

Panic gripped at her throat as she slid from the saddle, her feet sinking slightly in the leaf litter. Her hands shook as she pulled the Shadow Fabric from one of the saddle bags and shook it out over her horse.

'Strange blanket, play?'

“That's right,” Sansa whispered to the confused equine, “we're playing, you hide in the trees until I call for you.”

'Hide play, wait game.'

“Good boy,” Sansa stroked a hand along his nose and fed him an apple. She took a second piece of Shadow Fabric from the saddle bag, then her satchel of supplies from the other, and adjusted the cloth she'd draped over the horse, tucking and tying so it wouldn't fall off, and kept him hidden in the shadow of the trees.

“Where is Domeric?” She asked, and flinched as her Long Seeking showed her paths through the Dreadfort, flickering through halls and rooms until she saw a young man. He looked to be in his early twenties and in quite a bit of distress.

Sansa shuddered as she came back to herself. Domeric was several years older than... than Ramsay, and when her magical vision had first fixed on the still living heir, Sansa had thought she'd been looking at her monstrous second husband, terror gripping her before logic managed to worm its way back in.

Trying not to panic, Sansa settled the satchel over her good shoulder and wrapped herself in the cloth. She stuck to the treeline as far as she could, praying as she made her way into the Dreadfort.

* * *

Ned entered the training yard to the sounds of shouting, his youngest daughter's angry voice rising up.

“-each me! She left me behind because I'm so bloody useless! You're already teaching Bran and he's younger than me! It's NOT _FAIR_!”

“Arya,” he didn't raise his voice, but every one turned to him nonetheless, even his daughter who was almost in tears, a training sword in her left hand. “Where is Sansa?”

The guards at the gate had sounded very certain that both his daughters had been together before Sansa had ridden off for parts unknown, and only his sense of honour had held him back from punishing those who'd allowed his daughter to ride out by herself.

By all current accounts, the girls had lied to the master of horse and the guards on duty.

Of course, by all current accounts, Sansa had ridden off at impossible speeds, vanishing before they could react.

Arya clenched her jaw and didn't answer, anger burning in her eyes.

“Arya,” he tried again, “where is your sister?”

Jon looked between them, and where everyone else seemed content to stay where they were, Jon looked half a second from stepping between them to protect his sister.

Robb's gaze flickered to Jon, and Ned could see the same resolve form in an instant in his heir. Theon stood close to Robb, and Ned got the impression he would follow Robb's lead.

Ned sighed and tried a different approach, he asked again, this time as a father, and not a Lord.

“Arya, please tell me where your sister went, if you tell me now, I promise no one will be in trouble.”

He saw confusion flicker across her face at his wording, then realisation. Her internal struggle played out for all to see as she wavered between protecting her sister and her people.

“She...” tears slipped from her eyes, “she's gone to heal someone, or try to.”

Ned waited for her to continue as everyone else in the yard looked at Arya questioningly.

“If he dies, if he dies it's bad, and if he lives there's a chance we won't be betrayed,” Arya hiccups, the tears flowing faster. “She had to try.”

“Then why didn't she take an escort?” Ned asked, slipping back into his role as Lord.

Arya shook her head, “they would have been too late, he would have been dead several days by the time they arrived.”

Ned's brows furrowed as he tried to understand what his daughter meant. He stepped forwards and all three of the boys moved to block him, though Theon lagged slightly. Ned gave them a stern look and the trio shared a look before stepping out of his way, this time it was Jon who lagged.

Sighing, Ned knelt before his youngest girl and set a hand on her shoulder. “Arya, I need to know what's going on, I can't help if you won't tell me what's happening.”

Arya wavered, her breath uneven, she looked over his shoulder for help.

“It might be best,” Jon's quiet voice said, and the boy came to stand by his sister. “There's only so much we can do, but you know her best now, what would she want?”

“To ensure the pack survives,” Arya's reply was instant, she hadn't even had to think. She looked surprised at herself, but slowly nodded, and gather herself together.

Looking her father in the eye, she spoke.

“Sansa has drawn the favour of a God, there are terrible things coming, but this God wants to help us. There are things that it wants in exchange for the power to help our people, but as far as we know it's on our side.” Arya hesitated, “one of the Houses is waiting for an opportunity to betray us, and Sansa is trying to save the House's current heir, because the person that would replace him is a monster.”

“A God? Which one?” Ned asked, unsure if he believed. Strange things had been happening, and Jon Arryn had recently confirmed Catelyn's suspicions regarding Sansa's vision, but Green Seeing was one thing, a _known_ thing. The direct favour of a God though?

“We don't know,” Jon answered for his sister.

“We know it's true though,” Robb added, “we've... seen the gifts it gave her.”

“Gifts?!” Ned demanded, standing and turning to his sons.

“I think she'll want to explain,” Theon said, and Arya nodded.

“She will,” the girl confirmed. Looking up at her father, Arya asked “please just wait for her to get back? She can tell you then.”

“How long?” Ned hid a wince as his daughter flinched, he hadn't meant for his question to come out so harshly.

“Three days, win of lose, the task will be over by then, and she'll come home.”

Ned felt a headache growing.

* * *

Already on edge, Sansa almost screamed when her Console dinged in her bag, only the sheer terror that grabbed at her throat kept the sound from escaping. Hand over her mouth to stifle the noise of her breath, heart beating wildly in her chest, Sansa found a small, dark corner to hide in as she checked her Console, praying that it wasn't bad news.

 

/                    **New Epithet Available:**                \  
/                               **The Cleric**                            \  
|                             **The Warlock**                             |  
\           Please note that these Epithet are             /  
\   **incompatible** and cannot be used together.   /

 

'What?' Sansa's brow scrunched in confusion. Vexed, she examined them quickly. Somehow she'd earned two titles belonging to a type listed as “Servants of the Immortals”. The Warlock granted her improved combat abilities from what she understood, but The Cleric improved all of her Healing Abilities by “25%”, which Sansa thought could only be a good thing considering the task she had ahead of her.

While she could only use one of the two at a time, the unused Epithet wasn't lost, by left in her Achievement list.

Nervously she set The Cleric as her new Epithet, sighing _quietly_ in relief when her preexisting Epithet (The Gamer) stayed active. Stuffing her Console back into her satchel, Sansa went back to tracking down her target.

'I should have worn a disguise,' she thought as she slipped through the shadows of the hallways, 'oh well, something to look into when this is over... along with thirty-thousand _other_ things.'

* * *

“Thank you Ramsay,” Domeric said with a weak smile, “I'll be sure to eat it later, I promise.”

His half brother smiled back, delight in his eyes, “of course, as long as you do, you need to keep your strength up if you want to get better.”

“I will,” Domeric winced as a sharp pain lanced through the left side of his abdomen, his body prickling with unwelcome heat.

“Oh, dear,” Ramsay said frowning, “I'd best leave you to rest, don't forget your food.”

Domeric grimaced in place of a smile, waving to his half brother as he left to room. A wave of pungent air entering as Ramsay stepped out. Through his discomfort, Domeric caught sight of Reek in the hallway.

He really didn't know why his brother kept the other man around, his hygiene was horrific and the man made Domeric feel uncomfortable in ways he couldn't quite put his finger on.

(He squashed the little voice inside that reminded him Ramsay made him feel the same way, like his father did, they were family after all, Domeric was probably just getting used to having a brother. It was fine.)

Domeric looked to the plate of food by his bedside table and winced. It looked delicious, truly, but the pain in his gut made him feel like retching. Settling as best he could, Domeric tried to sleep.

He must have dozed off at some point, because when he woke there was someone in the room with him, running a hand through his sweat soaked hair. A hand resting gently just below his navel, but for once the pressure didn't hurt.

He made a noise, trying to ask what was going on, and the hand in his hair stilled for a moment.

“It's alright,” the voice was light and feminine, through blurry eyes and heavy eyelids Domeric thought he saw rich copper and a kind face.

“Dreaming,” he managed to mumble, because he had to be dreaming. How else could the hand on his stomach be _glowing_?

“Yes,” the nice voice said, “dreaming, close your eyes and rest, it's alright.”

His eyes slid shut and he drifted off.

* * *

Sansa tried to steady her breathing as Domeric drifted back to sleep, her hands trembling as she did her best to sooth his mystery illness. She thought she'd been prepared for this, for him. She'd mentally prepared herself as she wound her way through the Dreadfort, knowing how much he looked like his half brother,

At nearly twenty, Domeric looked _so much_ like Ramsay when she'd been married to him – _sold_ to him – and she'd been ready for that, or so she'd told herself. Sansa had even been doing well, focusing on the healing but...

His voice.

 _His_ voice.

It was too much, she couldn't... she...

No. She _could_ , and she would. She was more powerful than Ramsay, stronger than a bad memory and a nightmare. She'd even slain one monster already since her return, she could slay another.

She drew her courage up around her shoulders like a queen's cloak, like her manners in Kings Landing. Her armour had never been made of metal, but of concepts, she'd be changing that as soon as she returned to Winterfell, but for now, it would have to do.

Resolve found, Sansa withdrew her hands from Domeric's sleeping form, a few loose strands of hair sticking to her fingers. She pulled her Console from her satchel with one hand, carefully collecting the hair, she drew her needle and began to sew.

Domeric's information appeared on her Console as soon as she submitted the sample.

“Diverticulitis?” Sansa mouthed as she saw the putrid colour of his Bacterial Status bar, the word in bold beside it. Investigating the word, she found it to be the name of an illness, and infection of something (Diverticula) that sometimes occurred in the bowels.

These 'pockets' that formed in the bowels, in the colon according to her Console, should have been benign, merely existing with no ill effect, but _something_ had happened to make them inflamed and infected. Domeric's body was poisoning itself as a result.

'But what caused it?' Sansa frowned, eyes drifting about the young man's room as she tried to think. Her gaze caught on the dish atop his bedside table. 'Maybe?' With a hesitant motion, Sansa stood and moved her hand over the dish, light filtered down from her palm and washed over the dish's contents.

Having now used the Cleansing Touch on an actual infection, Sansa could _sense_ the difference between it working and not. Whatever ingredients had been used to make this meal, _something_ was rotten, the food was full of 'bacteria' or perhaps 'virus' that her new Ability cleansed, she could feel it as her power destroyed the illness.

'If he's been eating things like this, no wonder he's gained an infection,' Sansa thought as she stopped, giving up on the dish. 'If I understand the Console and potency correctly, it's a wonder he hasn't contracted _more_ illnesses.'

Carefully Sansa stowed her Console, shrugged her Shadow Cloth up around her shoulders and picked up the dish, being careful not to touch the food. Whatever was causing the infection had a risk of _also_ being poisonous, so Sansa took the meal and left the room, looking for a place to throw it out.

* * *

As Sansa tipped the disease riddled food from the dish she heard a sudden sharp bark, followed by the baying of hunting hounds.

Ice gripped her heart.

'The _DOGS_ !! How could I be _so stupid_!' Standing frozen, still mostly covered by her Cloth, Sansa berated herself for forgetting the hounds. If she was found, and there was a chance she would be, her name would not save her. Roose Bolton did not know her, no one here knew her by sight, she couldn't prove she was Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Alone with no escort? They'd assume she was lying about her identity. If they didn't kill her immediately for fraud, she'd be hunted down by the dogs.

Straight away if she was lucky.

She needed to improve her Animal Handling Ability for dogs. At a Platinum level they would fight their own instincts and instructions to avoid harming her. But the only way to get a Platinum level anything was to use the actual material, which meant she'd have to get close enough to a dog to take a sample of its fur. Getting close to the hounds of the Dreadfort _before_ they liked her enough to not-eat-her was something Sansa was reluctant to do.

'I wonder if I could use the fur from a dead creature for Animal Handling,' Sansa thought as she hurried back into the castle to dispose of dish. (And by 'dispose of' she meant throw it into a fire and hope someone found it and merely assumed someone had been clumsy.)

'Or a _sleeping_ animal!? If I could make them sleep, ensure they couldn't wake up? Somehow?'

* * *

Not quite ready to return to Domeric's room, Sansa found a small, out of the way alcove for her embroidery. She stitched a quick line base for her Avatar to auto-fill to, two versions, both with a hand outstretched.

Across from her she stitched in a dog, the first version standing, the second laying on a hastily sewn bed to indicate it was sleeping rather than dead.

 

/                   **New Ability:**                    \  
/                    **Sleepy Time**                     \  
| Target warm blooded creatures within |  
\      10 metres and knock them out     /  
\                  for 5 minutes.                /

 

Sansa scowled at her Console, the ability far less powerful than she'd been hoping for, though it would still get the job done.

Hopefully.

* * *

Making her way down to the kennels was easier with the growing darkness of the falling night. The lengthening shadows making her time in the light less frequent as she went from one patch of darkness to the next.

She found herself hesitating at the door, but Sansa reminded herself that she was on a mission and forced herself to step inside. She was met with raucous barking, loud and sharp and _close_. She flinched at each one, trying to ignore them as she looked around for people who might see and stop her, but there was no one.

Removing the Shadow Cloth to avoid damaging it in the kennels, she stuffed it into her satchel and held out her hands, willing the hounds to sleep. One by one as she walked the length of the kennels, they dropped into slumber.

When she reached the end she knelt right beside one of the cages, one hand dipping into her satchel, worming past the Shadow Cloth.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Sansa froze, fear racing down her back like ice, prickling at her skin. _She knew that voice_. Lighter and younger than she'd heard it before, but she knew it.

She stood and turned.

A girl barely older than her stood within the doorway, the faintest trace of baby fat softening the lines of a cruel face.

Myranda, Ramsay's favourite bedwarmer.

Sansa tried to come up with an excuse for her presence in the kennels, but Myranda didn't give her a chance to say anything, striding forward with ill intent in her eyes.

“What have you done to my dogs? Have you poisoned them? You can answer me now or you can answer to my lord.”

Sansa tried to think of a way to disengage, her new sleep ability? The fruit knife in her bag? Her Manicure Ability? But Myranda already was shaking her head.

“No answer? Fine!” Myranda reached for Sansa, inhaling as she did, head turning ever so slightly. In that instance, Sansa realised Myranda was about to call for help, for the guards or someone else she wasn't sure, but she _knew_ she had to stop her.

Reaching up with her own hands as Myranda slammed her against the bars of the cage, Sansa grabbed for Myranda's throat, trying to choke off the sound before she could make it. Sansa had become unfortunately familiar with choking during her second marriage, combined with her more recent training with Maester Luwin, she knew the theory of how to insure silence.

Sansa's finger's curled around Myranda's pale neck, then they kept curling, fingertips sliding through her skin with ease. Myranda gurgled and Sansa stared as Myranda's expression became confused.

It took Sansa a few seconds to realise why her fingers were so warm, why she could only see a single joint of each – 'Proximal Phalanges' her mind supplied distantly – why Myranda's pale neck was suddenly so red.

Myranda gurgled again and trying to flail away from Sansa's grasp, but her colour was fading rapidly from her face and out onto her top, staining the fabric a dark, sticky shade.

Sansa tried not to panic as she pulled her fingers free, blood sliding off her Valyrian Steel. She hadn't even meant to summon them.

As Myranda sunk weakly to her knees, Sansa caught her by her hair, a plan forming rapidly in her mind.

Fumbling for the keys on the other girls belt, Sansa pulled them free and sorted through them with one hand. The dogs in the kennel began to stir, and Sansa paused only long enough to send those within range back to sleep.

Taking what seemed to be the correct key, Sansa opened the nearest cage and dragged Myranda's body inside, trying to drop it in a way that would complete the narrative. She wiped her fingers as clean as she could on a patch of Myranda's top that was still free of blood before pulling out her Console to collect what she'd come for. There was an Achievement waiting for her on the Console's surface, but she ignored it and finished her mission.

She left the door to the cage open on her way out, pausing just long enough to wrap herself in the Shadow Cloth before fleeing the scene of the crime.

* * *

 

/                 **Achievement:**                  \  
/         **With My Own Two Hands**         \  
|   Kill an enemy with your own hands  |  
\  Enemy Awareness is now Available  /  
\                    in Maps.                      /

 

* * *

Sansa sought out a place to wash the last traces of blood from her hands, her entire body shaking, a sudden wave of exhaustion over taking her.

It had been so anti-climactic, so _easy_.

Sansa felt sick, her stomach roiling. She felt cold and hot all over at the same time, her skin racing with tiny needle pricks like when she sat one way to long and the blood flow went funny in her legs, but every part of her at once and a thousand time worse.

'By all the Gods,' she wanted to cry, to find someplace safe and weep. It made _no sense_. Myranda had been her enemy, a threat to her and her mission. Sansa knew the kind of person she was, would have become. It made no sense for her to feel guilty.

She'd done the right thing, for the good for the good of the North. To protect herself so she could protect her _family_ , her _people_.

It took Sansa and hour of hiding in the dark for her body to stop shaking, for her hiccuping half sobs to stop.

For the sick feeling inside to go away, it was a much longer wait, but Sansa had things to do.

* * *

Domeric's room was empty when Sansa returned, a new Platinum level sub-Ability under her belt.

'Oh no,' she tensed, looking around for any clue. Her Console would have indicated his death, surely, so he had to be around somewhere. 'But where could he have gone?!'

A sound at the door had her darting into the shadow cast by Domeric's wardrobe, just in time to hide from a pair of worn and weary looking maids to enter with a fresh set of bed linens and furs. As the women changed the bedding, Sansa realised something, and felt a strong urge to smack herself in the forehead.

Quietly pulling out her Console once more, she went to her Maps, activating Domeric's locator beacon. She'd used his hair to determine his health, and hair was a guaranteed Map Beacon, as she'd discovered with Arya.

There was a strange, somehow _dangerous_ looking red gradient around the edge of her map of the Dreadfort. It seemed to pulse like a heartbeat as she watched, but she set the new development aside for the time being, and moved in close enough to see Domeric's location.

Sansa's face twisted slightly with annoyance as she realised Domeric was in the chambers belonging to the resident Maester, Tybald if Sansa was remembering correctly.

As one of the maids opened the room's shutters and a crisp night breeze lifted the damp scent of sickness from the room, Sansa realised that Domeric going to meet the Maester rather than bringing the Maester here, was perhaps for the best.

Not sure how long she'd have to wait, Sansa sunk slowly to the floor to settle in for the long haul, slipping into a light, restless doze.

* * *

Sansa startled awake a few hours later to the sound of thundering... _something_. Looking to the source of the noise, she saw Domeric also startle awake in his bed, looking very confused and concerned.

A few seconds later Sansa gagged as the smell hit her, and an alarmed Domeric bolted from his bed in the direction of the privy. Clambering ungracefully to her feet, Sansa winced and tried not to gasp as her body made its protests to 'sleeping' sitting against the wardrobe known. Her injured shoulder giving a sharp stab of pain as she hurried over to the window and reopened the shutters which had been closed against the cold when the room had finished airing.

Sansa all but threw herself out of the window to breath in some clean air.

'Well,' she thought as she ineffectively tried to wave fresh air inside the room, 'if I understood the Console's information correctly, he's been forced to hold that in for _days_. Urgh, Gods it smells even worse when fermented. Urgh! Forget pig skins and blood, _this_ is the worst, grossest part of the medical field.'

Sansa gagged again slightly.

'I regret this quest so much.'

* * *

Fever dreams were one thing, something Tybald had assured him weren't uncommon for someone in his state, but the open shutters of his room when he returned from his late night trip to the lavatory, that wasn't the result of his fever.

Someone had been in his room and had _thankfully_ aired it out. The question was who.

Or perhaps the question was: were those vague shapes he saw in the air really there, or were his dreams following him into the waking world? Domeric had been showing signs of recovery, so why would his symptoms begin changing in such a way?

He was tired and in pain, and since nothing seemed to be attacking him, the questions could wait until morning.

He closed the shutters before slipping back into his cold, but thankfully aired bed. Closing his eyes he tried to relaxed back into sleep.

A rustle of fabric caught his ear just as he slipped to the edge of sleep, too far gone to rouse himself for such a faint, non-threatening sound.

Sleep hit him like a wave and dragged him under between one heartbeat to the next.

* * *

Sansa cursed mentally as the glow from her hands lit up the room, so much brighter now that it wasn't contending with another source of light. She hoped, as she used her Cleansing Touch, that Domeric's natural need for sleep would keep him unconscious until she'd finished another healing session.

She wasn't entirely clear how a person's natural tiredness or exhaustion would be affected by her Sleepy Time Ability, but hopefully it would work out in her favour.

Sansa used her healing Ability for as long as she dared before pulling back and checking her Console. She frowned.

By her calculations, she now had an additional several days to complete her quest.

Checking Domeric's status Sansa could see a marked improvement in his condition. Knowing that the quest had been specifically about saving Domeric's life, she quickly put two and two together, realising that the extended time frame meant he was on the road to recovery, but close to a relapse.

'Even if I fix him all the way,' Sansa considered, 'if I can't stop him from eating food with disease and rot in it, he'll be right back were he started. I have to find the source of the corruption.'

Sansa laid out her mental plan with meticulous care, only because she already suspected who the culprit was.

'It could be easy,' she thought, fear coiling in her gut, 'I knock him out and put my talons through his throat. He wouldn't have the chance to hurt me.'

She sighed and dropped her head into her hands, 'that would leave evidence, it's too unique a wound, it would be clear that _someone_ had done it.' Sansa rubbed at her sore shoulder, 'what if I framed his servant? Theon said he was a replacement Reek, so there must be one here... but would either of them be here _now_?'

Sansa felt the irritation rise up inside her, her desire to see it done and over with warring with her practicality, the _need_ to cover her tracks lest the House of Bolton take revenge and make all her work meaningless.

Her stomach gurgled, she hadn't eaten in a while, and healing Domeric had worn her out. Using any of her Abilities wore her out a little, for the most part she didn't even notice, but since she'd arrived at the Dreadfort, she'd been using something or other, on and off what felt like the entire time.

It made her tired in a way she didn't fully understand, not a quite physical exhaustion, and not exactly a mental one either, she had no words to explain the feeling, not that anyone knew to ask.

Her stomach complained again and she sighed, securing her Shadow Cloth about her before she left the room, slipping out the door and down the corridor towards the kitchens.

Hopefully the early hour would mean fewer workers to sneak past.

* * *

Abigail curled in on herself as she carried fresh water up to lord Domeric's chambers, hoping to avoid the notice of the lord's bastard brother. She'd been warned that he was currently _furious_. More so than usual anyway. From the gossip she'd heard, the Kennel Master's young daughter had been killed by one of the hunting hounds.

She didn't know whether to pity the young girl or not. While death by hound was unpleasant, rumours said little Myranda had gained the attention of the Bolton Bastard. Since his arrival several months prior, he'd shown interest in almost a dozen young maids.

None of them were there any more.

The shadows of the corridor shifted, and Abigail looked up to make sure she wouldn't run into anyone, but there was no one in the corridor.

And then there was.

Striding from one shadow to the next, the weak sunlight from the window revealing her presence, a young woman in dark grey clothing, copper hair in braid that was beginning to come loose. The girl's eyes met with Abigail's, and she raised a finger to her lips.

Abigail had just enough time to realise the girl was shushing her before the next shadow swallowed her up.

She mouthed a silent swear and leaned against the nearby wall. Abigail knew the hearsay and stories of course, but in all her ten years of working for the Dreadfort, she'd never actually seen one of the Dreadfort's Ghosts before.

'No one will ever believe this,' she realised, water sloshing in the pitcher she held as her hands shook. 'At least... at least it didn't seem interested in me?'

'… or maybe that was the warning I'm its prey now...'

* * *

'Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!' Sansa berated herself as she hurried down the hall of the Dreadfort, leaving a panicking maid behind her. She'd known the Shadow Cloth didn't work as well, or at all, in direct sunlight, but she'd chosen to walk right by the large open windows that faced east, because of course she had.

'Well, maybe I'll get lucky and she won't say anything?' Sansa thought, 'and besides, who'd believe her if she did say anything?'

Sansa shook her head in disgust at her own carelessness, and moved on, back to tracking down several of the hidden items around Dreadfort in order to delay having to be in the same room as Ramsay.

It was her second day in the horrible castle, and she knew the sooner she dealt with things, the sooner she could leave, but...

She missed her brothers, she missed Lord Commander Snow and the Assassin her sister had become. She missed the illusion of safety Winterfell gave her.

She missed home.

She-

'#^((!'

Wide eyed, she scrambled backwards, trying to press herself deep into shadow as a young Ramsay walked towards her, a plate of food in his hands, and a filthy looking man on his heels. The filthy man smelled worse than Domeric's gaseous expulsions the night before, and Sansa knew this man had to be the original Reek.

She slid a hand over her mouth and tried not to retch, lest she give herself away.

'I could kill them now, just knock them out and kill them,' she thought to herself, surreptitiously checking the corridor. 'We're alone, why _can't_ I do it now?' She asked herself, and when she realised she had no reason to not, she held out her hands, stepping after the two men.

Ramsay and Reek both dropped to the ground, food splattered across the floor as the plate tumbled from Ramsay's limp grasp and clattered away, and Sansa moved quickly.

'Do it, be free of him forever, get it over with,' she thought as she tucked her Cloth back and out of the way, scrambling for the knife on Reek's belt. She hit them both with Sleepy Time again, and steeled herself, raising the knife high above Ramsay.

He lay face down on the floor, helpless, unable to defend himself.

If he'd been _anyone else_ she **might** have lost her nerve, called herself out for her cowardly tactics, but she'd been married to this **_monster_** , she _knew_ what he was, the truth of him down to the very depths of his soul... if he had one.

She slammed the knife down into his back. Pulled it out and struck again, and again, and again. Over and over until Reek began to stir.

She hit Reek with a third dose of Sleepy Time, and moved over to him. Raising the knife, she paused.

Not, as perhaps she should have, because _this_ Reek might have been a victim like Theon. Theon had once told her, quietly, shyly before the Battle of Winterfell, before the dead had come to call, that he had certainly wished someone had granted him the mercy of death, the freedom from Ramsay that could not be lost.

Theon had only come back to himself because he'd had the support, limited though it was, _this_ Reek would likely have nothing.

No, in truth what stayed her hand was a memory of Maester Luwin's lessons about stab wounds. She rearranged him carefully, and crouched low by reek's head, a forth and final Sleepy Time just in case, and she slammed the knife _carefully_ into his diaphragm, roughly where someone would stab themselves if they were so inclined.

She pressed the knife deep and jostled it, trying to simulate what would happen if he'd fallen with the knife in his grip.

She could feel the tremors begin in her body as she wiped her bloody hands on Reek's own to sell the scene, and stood. A patch of damp brushed her leg and she looked down.

She had blood on her trouser-skirt.

She checked the bottom of her shoes, which were thankfully clear, and pulled the shadow cloth back around herself, adding in her own Shadow Step as she fled the scene of a murder for the second time since she'd arrived.

She needed to find a change of clothes or somewhere to wash hers.

* * *

Breakfast in Winterfell was a tense affair, the silence both unusual and heavy on the Stark family's shoulders.

“So,” Catelyn tried, “have you found a good site for the new glass garden?”

“Not yet,” Robb replied, “we want to wait for Sansa to return before we finalise any decisions.”

Catelyn nodded, unsure what to say. Ned cleared his throat awkwardly, but at the looks of his family, took a swig of watered down breakfast ale instead of attempting conversation.

Scowling, Arya stabbed at the wooden table, too deep in thought to even notice the oddity of no one trying to stop her vandalism.

“Is anyone going to tell me what's going on,” Bran asked, “ever?”

Neither Arya nor Rickon paid him any mind, but everyone else exchanged glances.

“Perhaps when _we_ have been told what is going on,” Catelyn replied, falling back on second-person-passive-aggressiveness, “we will be able to tell you.”

Bran looked at his family then huffed with a roll of his eyes, “fine,” he muttered. “Don't tell me then.”

* * *

Roose watched coldly as Tybald completed his examination.

“Well?”

“Stabbed in the back repeatedly,” Tybald said.

“I can see that,” Roose replied, his response sending chills down Tybald's spine.

“The servant's wound is... likely self inflicted.”

“So what do you conclude?”

Tybald suppressed a shiver, “given the death of young Myranda yesterday, I'd say Reek got jealous, double murder suicide.”

Roose sneered.

To think, any son of _his_ would be blindsided by a _servant_.

'Pathetic,' Roose turned to leave.

“My Lord,” Tybald called after him, “there is one other matter.”

Roose turned slowly, a single eyebrow raising slightly.

“The plate of food found by the bodies... it seems there was some... form of _contamination_ in it. A substance filled with disease which is not... suitable for human consumption.”

“And?”

“And the maids I have question inform me that Ramsay has been bringing his brother food for two weeks now. Since shortly before lord Domeric began developing his... illness.”

Roose's gaze slipped to the corpse of his bastard.

“I see... Domeric has begun to recover though?”

“He has, most remarkably,” Tybald nodded.

“Good,” Roose said, and nodded to the corpse, “get rid of that.”

He turned and left, a shadow of a smile on his lips.

It seemed his heir was stronger than he'd given him credit for. His bastard on the other hand... despite such promising potential had turned out to be rather a disappointment.

* * *

Rumours are strange things. Sometimes they seem to start from nowhere, and spread without a human vehicle, magically cropping up in places with no discernible point of origin.

By the time night fell on the Dreadfort, everyone and their dog had heard some version of a rumour surround the death of the Bolton Bastard.

Some people were outraged, those with corrupt personalities and diseased souls like Ramsay mourned his passing.

Everyone else, those who knew they could have been one of his victims, they celebrated. Quietly, so the Lord didn't find out. Among this group rumours spread.

Though the Dreadfort was of the North and followed The Old Ways, its people were not ignorant of the Seven.

“The Maiden herself came to the Dreadfort, the Maiden slew the monster.”

“The Stranger sent someone to collect.”

“On Old God disguised as a maiden came to the Dreadfort and struck the bastard down.”

“A malicious spirit was roused by his actions, and killed him for his hubris.”

“Ramsay _created_ the spirit, she was made from the dying anger of his victims and came for _revenge_.”

Sansa knew of none of this, hiding from the castle's inhabitants, she cleaned her trouser-skirt and tried to keep her stolen meal down as her hands continued to shake.

The pings from her Console went ignored.

* * *

Sansa wandered the hallways, adding to her map so she didn't have to return to Domeric's room and look at his face. It was so much like Ramsay's, like Roose's and she just _couldn't_ deal with it yet.

'Does it mean I'm weak?' She wondered, her mind still imagining a stickiness to her hands where the blood had been. 'I thought I was strong enough, how can I feel so disgusted with myself for killing a _monster_ , an _enemy_.'

'Letting him live was **never** an option, he was never going to become a better man.'

Sansa scoffed at herself, alone in a dank corridor, miserable and wishing for comfort. It felt like the story of her life since she'd trusted the wrong Lannister so many years ago. But now she had her family back and she'd let herself go far from their side.

'I wish there was a way to talk with them even when we are so far apart.'

Sansa stopped, 'why _can't_ there be a way? The Console has powers that allow for _other_ impossible things, why not this?'

Smiling to herself as she tried to put together a picture that would express her need, she ducked into a decorative alcove, one of the few to mark the halls of the Dreadfort.

Or at least, she tried.

As she skirted around the cold stone statue, the entire thing moved. The Statue slid back into the wall which warped like an enormous invisible hand was pressing against it. The clean cut stones parted like curtains as the Statue moved through a newly formed archway to stop in the middle of a small antechamber.

'Ping!'

 

/          **Dungeon Unlocked!**           \  
/         **The Fortress of Dread**           \  
/         From beneath it devours,        \  
/              Always creeping in,              \  
|             You'll be lost forever,              |  
|              Paying for their Sin.              |  
\         Running will not help you,         /  
\      They see not with their eyes,      /  
\   You already know the weapon,   /  
\   To ensure what's dead dies.   /

 

Sansa wasn't sure if she was truly hearing anything or not, but something set her teeth on edge, like the wailing winds of the Eyrie that whistled so high they went silent.

She stumbled backwards, out of the alcove, the statue and wall returning to their normal positions.

Sansa turned on her heel and walked briskly away.

'Nope, nope, nope,nope,nopenope-'

* * *

Her hesitation was gone, her desire to be far away from the Dreadfort far outweighing her desire to not have to look at a man who so closely resembled her second husband. The sooner she finished healing Domeric the sooner she could leave.

Based on her previous healing sessions, she thought she might be able to completely eradicate the infection in only a few hours of straight Cleansing.

First though, she needed to eat. The stress of being in the Dreadfort, of hiding from its inhabitants and trying to heal Domeric had done terrible things to her diet.

* * *

Abigail was returning several plates to the kitchens when it happened. She stepped into the bread pantry, and motion caught her eye. She looked over and froze.

The ghost from that morning stood in the pantry, partially visible like a painting of someone wearing a sheet around their shoulders, only the artist hadn't yet painted the sheet in.

The ghostly maiden stood still, eyes focused on Abigail, a lemon caked held daintily before her mouth. She lowered it to the hand she'd been using like a plate to catch the crumbs and licked her lips, wiping away the traces of what was likely another lemon cake.

“No one will ever believe you,” the ghost maiden said in an apologetic voice. Abigail startled and tried to think of something to say or do, but the girl vanished.

Then so did several more lemon cakes.

* * *

'Lemon cakes, lemon cakes, sour-sweetness so divine, I will eat them all right up, because all these cakes are mine~'

For the first time since she'd entered the castle, Sansa felt giddy, composing a song to her favourite dessert as she made her way back to Domeric's rooms ready to finish her Quest.

The door to his rooms were open, and as she approached she could hear male voices speaking. They became clearer and clearer as she drew closer, by the time she peeked inside, she already knew who she would find.

“But he always seemed so... earnest?” Domeric looked at his father, his expression devastated.

“People often do,” Roose replied, disappointed acceptance in his voice. “Hopefully now that he has... been removed, your recovery will be swift.”

Sansa eased her way into the room, sidling along a wall to sit in one of the corners away from any light strong enough to reveal her. She finished her lemon cakes as she watched the two men failing to communicate.

Domeric because he had just received shocking news while still ill, and Roose because, well, he was Roose.

It was like watching a really terrible play where the actors had half forgotten their lines but kept trying to muddle through.

Eventually Roose gave up and left, pausing in the doorway to look back at Domeric one last time.

“You are my heir, and I am pleased you have overcome this weakness,” Sansa rolled her eyes at Roose's attempt.

'Just say I'm glad you're feeling better, like a normal person,' she thought at him as he closed the door.

Domeric got up to pace the room a bit, and Sansa hid a sigh, pulling out her Console while she waited for him to go back to bed so she could knock him out without having to worry about a head injury, or moving him.

'Although, he might not stay asleep long enough... Oh dear,' her Console happily informed her that not only had she gained a new Epithet – Adrestia – which had something to do with retribution, she'd also gained a whole new level of Exhaustion – Sleep Deprivation.

'That's just stupid,' Sansa pouted, 'I slept last night, sort of, I'm sure it was at least a solid... three hours, maybe?'

Like her body itself was telling her off, her shoulder gave a hard twinge. Nothing like the original stabbing pain or continual hard ache she'd felt when she'd first pulled her muscle, but enough to remind her that she had.

'I'll finish healing Domeric, ride back to Winterfell, and then sleep for an entire day,' Sansa promised herself, 'everything else can wait. Unless my parents didn't take my hint about Littlefinger and lord Arryn is dead.'

Domeric let out a loud huff and flung himself down onto his bed.

“He was so _nice_!”

Sansa scoffed, knowing _exactly_ who Domeric was talking about. “He was _not_.”

Domeric sat up slowly, his eyes tracking straight to Sansa's location. Beneath her Shadow Cloth, Sansa gaped, a hand rising to cover her mouth like she could take back the words.

'Oh, 'sporadic behaviour and impulsive actions', yes, I see that,' she shoved her Console with its judgemental list of Sleep Deprivation symptoms into her satchel and moved away from her spot on the floor as quietly as she could.

Domeric stood up and walked over to the corner, waving a hand in the place where Sansa had just been.

Sansa moved around the far side of the wardrobe, using it to hide herself from his direct line of sight.

'What do I do? WhatdoI _do_?!' Sansa felt panic fluttering in her chest, but squashed it mercilessly. She'd survived far more dangerous situations than this, in fact, this might even be a good thing. 'If I reveal myself to Domeric, tell him who I am and why I'm here, he'll probably be grateful. Instant ally, yes, this could work.'

Sansa did a quick check of her appearance, as best she could beneath the sheet, trying to remember the last time she'd bathed. 'Sort of while I was washing his brother's blood from my clothes.'

She let out a small burst of Cleansing Touch straight into her mouth, not sure if it would help with what was probably a bad case of stale breath. Activating her Shadow Step, she removed the Shadow Cloth and strode over to Domeric's bed, perching on the edge as the young man continued to examine the corner.

'This is a great idea,' Sansa assured herself, dropping her concealment. Domeric caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and turned. 'Or that could be the Sleep Deprivation talking.'

“Hello Domeric,” Sansa said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“I know you,” Domeric said, and Sansa had to control her surprise. “I dreamed you, your hands were glowing. How are you here?”

She could work with that.

“What makes you think you're not dreaming now?”

“What makes you think Ramsay wasn't a good man?” Domeric retorted.

Sansa stared at him coolly, “because I've seen his soul, and he was a monster wearing the skin of a man. He showed you the face you wanted to see, but it wasn't real, the brother you thought you had, _he_ wasn't real.”

Domeric shook his head, casting his eyes about like he was looking for something to rebuke her words.

“Who are you?” He asked when he found nothing, “why are you here?”

“I'm here because your brother was feeding you rot, and it has begun to affect your insides, it's what's making you sick. I'm here to heal you.”

“ _Why_?” He stepped towards her and she tensed, the scenario far too familiar.

Sansa forced herself to not react.

“Because I believe that despite your family's dark history, _you_ have a chance to rise above it, that _given_ the chance, you _will_ rise above it. There is good in your soul Domeric Bolton.”

Something in him seemed to break, and his next step was to the side. He turned and lowered himself to the bed, sitting beside her. “I just... I wanted a brother of my own, I...”

“Domeric,” Sansa shifted so she could face him, placing one hand on his lower back and activating Cleansing Touch. “For people of your station, Blood might be where Family _starts_ , but it is not where it _ends_. Family can be _choice_ , blood is a strong tether, but it is not the only tie that binds.”

He looked at her like almost, but could quite understand what she was telling him.

“I don't know what to do,” he admitted.

“You'll figure it out, one step at a time,” she said, then patted him on the lower back, temporarily stopping her Ability. “But for now: lie down and get some rest, and when I'm finished, add more fibre to your diet to decrease your chance of a relapse.”

At least, that's what she _thought_ the Console had said during her most recent check of Domeric's status. It used such big words that all looked made up, she had to go on the smaller words she did know.

“Relapse?”

“The... the rot caused... 'structural damage', as you heal your body will patch over it, but there will still be a weakness there.” She told him as she began man-handling him onto the bed. “Unless you're _very_ unlucky, it should be fine, but just in case.”

He relented and made himself comfortable, watching as she placed her hands below his navel. A blush spread across his face even as he berated himself. He was almost a man full grown, she was a girl, who'd likely not yet blossomed.

The sight of a sunlight glow from her hands distracted him entirely from his thoughts.

“Go to sleep,” she muttered at him, “this will take a while, no reason for both of us to be bored. Plus it will help your recovery.”

Domeric forced himself to relax, wondering if allowing this to happen was a good idea afterall, but her hands were glowing and she could appear in the blink of an eye. As she'd asked: 'what made him think he _wasn't_ dreaming.'

~~It would make more sense if he was, and he desperately needed _something_ to make sense.~~

* * *

It was deep in the night, or perhaps too early in the morning to be morning yet, when he roused.

His blankets were tucked high around him, warding off the chill from his open shutters, moonlight filtering in illuminated the strange girl still sitting on the edge of his bed.

She appeared to be sewing something on a cloth held by a white embroidery hoop.

His insides were writhing, demanding attention.

“I still feel awful, “ he informed her, and she looked up startled.

“I'm not surprised,” she told him, and in the moonlight, he realised she looked tired. “I've gotten rid of the _cause_ , not the _side effects_.” She finished several stitches almost frantically and pinned her needle into the excess cloth of her hoop. “You should visit the lavatory sooner rather than later, you'll feel better after.”

She looked about the room for a moment, then shrugged.

“I'd like to say it was wonderful to meet you, and that's it's been fun, but it wasn't.” She stood and made her way to the door. As she opened it she looked back at him. “Good bye lord Domeric.”

“Wait,” his call made her hesitate in the doorway, “you didn't tell me who you are.”

“Oh, didn't I?” She frowned, “Sansa Stark, of Winterfell.”

He blinked and she was gone, the door closing by itself.

Before he could spend even a second to speculate on the rumours about Sansa Stark of Winterfell which had been making their way through the North, his guts let out a gurgle, and he lurched from his bed, rushing from his room.

* * *

Sansa followed the markers she'd sewn down the corridors, through the darkened pre-dawn halls of the Dreadfort. She was so tired it took her until she was almost at the exit before she realised she was losing time. Brief stretches of corridor elapsing without her notice.

Shadow Cloth thrown over herself, she dodged around the guards and horses and dogs of the early morning hunters leaving the castle, hurrying out of the gates, trying not to bump into anyone else as she went.

Sansa ducked into the treeline as soon as she could and pulled her Console from her Satchel, changing the settings on her Map of the area until she could see the beacon belonging to her horse.

False dawn tried its best to light the forest floor, and while it mostly failed, it gave Sansa _just enough_ light to see by.

By the time she found her horse, true dawn had begun, brightening the world.

“Hello boy,” she said quietly as she roused the horse from his slumber.

'Nice girl, run time?'

“That's right,” she said, stowing her things in the saddlebags and checking the belts and strings of the Tack. “Are you ready?”

'Run time, run time.'

“Good boy,” she lead him back to the road, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be nearby. She mounted in a smooth motion and leaned forward as she took up the reigns. “Home.”

She touched her toes to his sides, and they were off.

They raced the dawn all the way back to Winterfell, sunlight chasing them as they rode at impossible speeds. When her home came into sight, a warmth spread through her body, joy lifting her spirits.

The guards on the walls saw her coming, and confusion broke out, shouting and hurried movements. Sansa and her horse slowed as they approached, and by the time they reached the gate, it was already open for them.

As they trotted into the courtyard her parents came rushing out from a nearby doorway. She could see signs of disarray in their garments, and she realised they'd dressed hastily to come meet her.

“Sansa!” Her mother called out, rushing forwards, and Sansa dismounted, stumbling forwards to meet her.

“I'm sorry,” Sansa sobbed as she sunk into her mother's embrace, “I'm so, so sorry, it was important I swear.”

Her father's warmth washed over her as her encircled both of them in his arms.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, worry evident in his voice.

“No,” Sansa answered, “no, just, just _really_ tired. I need to... I need to tend my horse, and bathe, and sleep.”

“Hullen,” her father called out, “have someone see to her horse.”

Her mother said something, and Sansa thought she heard the word bath, but she was safe and warm and **home** , and her mind felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Words blurring and blending together, her legs felt weak.

Images and ideas warped through her mind, and she found herself waking and waking and waking without having fallen asleep. The lost metres of Dreadfort corridor nothing compared to the lost moments of time she experience next.

She found herself in a warm bath, her mother tending to her hair for her, with no idea how she'd gotten there.

She found herself drying, clothes beside her.

She found herself slipping between the familiar blankets of her bed.

She found herself rousing as Arya slid into bed with her and held her close.

“Sansa?”

“Mn?”

“I want you to give me my memories of the future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diverticula are real things, they're small pockets that can form in the colon, and under normal circumstances are completely benign. When they become infected the illness is called Diverticulitis.  
> It is completely treatable... today, Westeros? Not so much, which leads to increasing infection and complication, and death.  
> Exactly what Ramsay put in Domeric's food is open to interpretation, but I encourage you to assume the WORST possible thing.  
> Also just to clarify: Day 0 (Chapter 11) - Sansa gets hurt, her injury keeps her up until late, then her Token hunt keeps her up until Dawn. Day 1 (Arrival at Dreadfort + Myranda) - Sansa gets only a couple of hours of sleep, sitting up against a cabinet on a stone floor. Day 2 (Ramsay and Reek) - Sansa meets Dom and begins showing symptoms of Sleep Deprivation. Day 3 (Return to Winterfell) - Sleep deprivation has moved on from impulsive and erratic behaviour into micro-sleeps (AKA, Sansa beat the fail time, but paid the price. Hooray?)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya joins the team, a truth is shared, ripples spread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's late, and not much longer than normal, I got sick for a bit.  
> Warning: the chapter starts with some intentional screwy formatting and trippy story telling tricks, the confusion is intentional.

“You can't say here.”

The sounds of the slaughter outside make their way in.

These people are afraid to leave what they believe to be a safe haven.

“You have to keep moving.”

The crash of buildings collapsing is almost constant, like a tolling bell.

“We can't go out there.”

“You have to.”

If they run there's a chance, if they stay...

She can hear the building creaking in its bones,  
bending wood and cracking stone.

“Everyone out there's dead.”

“If you stay here you'll die!”

“Follow me. _Follow me_!”

The air is full of dust, and she pulls them along.

“Run!”

She can feel their fear, and they pull away. She can _feel_ it, a wavering hope.

Broken.

Even as she rises from the ground, her soul knows their chance it gone.

There's not enough time, she cannot waste what she has on them.

She tries anyway.

Not Today.

“Get up, _get up_!”

The woman's strength is waning.

“We have to keep moving.”

Her soul is sturdy, her body is not.

“Take her. _Take her!_ ”

“Come on! _Come on!_ ”

“ _NO_!”

She hesitates, the barest flinch of stillness.

It's ~~not~~ enough.

She runs, but there's no more time, she wasted it on a fool's errand.

Trying to save them, to save even only one of them.

She runs, but the sweep of dragon fire catches up, the flames hot against her.

The buildings fall.

Crumble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She rises to ash falling like snow, the city strangely silent. She walks, afraid of what she knows she'll see. She makes herself look anyway.

'How can I be alive?' She wonders for the briefest of seconds before she realises her folly, and looks back.

She can see her charred arm peaking out of the rubble that buried her. She had thought she'd known Death, but this...

A faint _clop_ pulls her gaze through the smoky air, a pale horse winds its way through the debris.

Through the dead.

It stops and looks to her. It is _waiting_ for her.

Many Faces, she knows she will never see them all, but did not know this could be one of them.

But even if she doesn't know their Face, she knows her God.

Her steps are sure as she joins them, motions certain as she climbs astride their back.

 ~~Not~~ Today

If she had breath in her still, it would have been knocked from her lungs as images swell up around her. The instant of death, over and over and over again. She watches the bodies that litter the remains of the street, a silent witness as they die and die and die.

Her God begins to walk, and in their wake a few of the ever-dying swirl from their memory, twining and twirling into a stream of light and smoke.

'The dead,' she realises, her God is collecting the dead. They gallop through the city, but she sees only a handful of the ever-dying dissolve into their trail of light. 'Can They not collect them all?'

The longer she looks, the more she sees, the more she thinks she begins to _understand_ what's happening.

'Three Names, three lives owed for three lives spared,' but the **balance** goes **deeper** than that, has _always_ gone deeper than that. There are too many dead, too much Death.

The pain and fear and anger holds them where they are, there's not enough life any more, not enough hope to carry them on.

The anguish of the ever-dying is seeping into the ground, she can _feel_ it as it spreads. It is hungry.

Her God will take and take and take until the anguish is removed, until all of the ever-dying rest, but King's Landing has become a stain upon the fabric of life. It will takes years beyond counting.

'Is Winterfell like this too?' So many dead there over the past few years, their souls building up and up. What of the Wights? What had their presence done?

The citadel comes into view, and she realises she has lost all sense of _time_. Her God carries her up the steps, into the Throne Room, to her brother.

To the _new_ queen.

She wants to sneer at the queen, to rage and hate and kill, but she can see the death stain on both their souls.

Something burns inside her brother, forcing him to remain in the living world even as it eats away at him.

Something _else_ burns within the queen.

Her brother takes the queen close, and slides a knife into her heart.

For a second she thinks he'll turn it on himself, but he looks up.

The last of the dragons glowers at him, and her brother carries the dead queen up the last few steps to the Throne.

He holds the queen close as he dares the dragon: 'Dracarys'.

The Throne begins to warp and melt, but neither her brother nor the queen burn.

Not at first.

She sees her brother begin to weep as the _thing_ inside him burns brighter than the dragon's flame.

Her God stomps their hoof, and the burning _thing_ splutters out. Just for an instant, but it is enough.

When the dragon stops, the queen remains, but her brother is ash, and the Throne is slag.

The dragon takes the queen east over the ocean, and her God takes her North.

As they race across the land, she sees flickers from the corners of her eyes, death stains, smatterings of the ever-dying.

She despairs as they crest a hill, and Winterfell lays before them, a sweeping path of corruption leading from it to the North, the tainted path of the Wight army.

But something blossoms, from somewhere below, deep within the walls of Winterfell, something _blooms_.

She sees the corruption unhook from the earth, souls rising and swirling like a storm to join her God, the trail North is washed away, pushed back, the corruption rejected.

She feels a connection in the wave, familiar and not.

A childhood jealousy, a gap of misunderstanding too far to bridge, an angry regret for leaving, fearful hope, a reunion in the dark, 'my sister asked you a question', a forged obsidian blade pressed into an uncertain hand 'stick 'em with the pointy end', a reunion of surprise and relief, a goodbye of hushed words and _running out of time_.

She feels something tug at her heart.

There's a red thread pulling her to Winterfell. It hadn't been there before.

Had it?

Her God takes her all the way to the gate, and she dismounts, a hand stroking their nose softly.

'I'll see you again,' she tells them, because she understands she won't be staying with her God, that's not why she was brought. 'I'll see you again.'

A **s** All TH _i_ n **gs** **w** _i_ ll

She doesn't say goodbye as her God canters away, form and face changing as they go, she enters Winterfell instead, following the thread.

Through the yards and halls, into the keep.

She sees an old man watching her through a young man's stolen eyes.

As she walks she remembers days that didn't happen, a bargain with her sister, mornings riding in the fields, learning amidst the summer grasses, teaching in return. A secret that makes her stumble, makes an impossible hope well up within her chest as her pace quickens.

The red thread leads her to her sister's childhood room, where an image of them waits.

The memories of the days that never happened catch up as she hurries around the bed, and she can see it as she recalls it. The her that _isn't/ ~~wasn't~~_ her sliding into bed with her sister, pressing in close and reaching out to rouse the older girl.

“Sansa?”

“Mn?”

“I want you to give me my memories of the future.”

Her sister is too much asleep to understand what is happening around her, what is being asked of her. Too tired and worn to reason why she shouldn't, her sister makes a grabbing motion with one hand and an embroidery hoop appears in her grasp.

The her that rode with Death eases into the her that wasn't her in the bed, to shadows merging, two reflections becoming one.

“Js bl' 'n ',” her sister tries to say, fiddling with the hoop so a picture appeared before grabbing blindly for the needle threaded through the fabric.

Together, present and past that might be, she pulls the needle free, pricking her finger easily and letting the blood drip onto the cloth that bore her image.

 

* * *

 

/                                                   Arya Stark \  
/                                         Epithet: The Player \  
/                                          Epithet: The Paladin \  
/                                   Trained as a Faceless man \  
|                                          who couldn't reject her |  
|                                  true origins, and Summoned |  
|                           by her sister to the Past   to help  |  
\                                 change the fate of Westeros, /  
\                         she is beloved by the one known /  
\               as the Stranger, The Many Faced God, /  
\                and carries their blessings with her. /

 

* * *

Waking was a slow, slow process.

Sansa felt herself drift closer and closer to it, then ebb further and further away, over and over until finally, at last her eyes opened, and she knew she was awake.

Her body felt heavy, sluggish, like her bones were made from solid stone.

Her room was dark, but she could see her Console across the room, moving slightly. There was a scent of meat broth, warm and close. Someone was in her room, she could hear their breath.

“That was cruel Arya,” Sansa said as she tried rise blindly, memories shaking free from the blanket of sleep while her sister put aside the Console to re-join her on the bed, helping her to sit.

“You would have talked me out of it,” Arya replied, tapping the back of Sansa's hand with the end of a reed candle. “I'm... sorry I took advantage of you like that, I know you...”

Sansa lit the end of the reed, light spilling across the room.

“I didn't want anyone to have to carry this like I do,” Sansa said quietly, “but I'm glad you're here.”

Their half-hug was stilted and awkward, all the progress they'd made to getting along both past and future suddenly felt distant, but not, and neither sister was sure where she stood.

“I... I brought you some broth from the kitchens,” Arya said, pulling away from the hug. She placed the reed candle onto the bedside table in exchange for the covered bowl already there. “Your status said you're dehydrated and half starved.”

She handed the bowl over, then moved to support Sansa's grip when she realised the older girl was trembling.

“Sansa, what happened in the Dreadfort?”

“Something good, I hope,” Sansa took a mouthful of broth as Arya gave a small huff of amusement. “What... Arya,” Sansa put her spoon down and looked her sister in the eye, “will you tell me? What happened in King's Landing?”

“Dragon bitch set the entire city on fire,” despite the scornful one, Arya's eyes held a haunted look, worsened by the flickering shadows of their only light source. “The people had surrendered, and she set them on _fire_. The soldiers, they... they rode the people down, the ones who didn't burn, it was... Gods Sansa, it made the battle of Winterfell look like a damned picnic.”

Sansa reached out, a shaking hand settling on her sister's wrist, and she knew she needed to comfort her sister, find some words to ease the ghosts in her eyes.

“Don't let me become that,” came out instead, and Arya looked startled.

“What?”

“I'm sorry,” Sansa said, aware it was too late to take it back. “I know I shouldn't ask it of you, but please, don't let me become like Daenerys, or Cersei. I... the three of us... we were all the same once,” Sansa closed her eyes against the betrayal creeping onto Arya's face, the memory of Tyrion's quiet voice in her ears. “We were young girls given to men with power, the truth of the world forced on us with violence and... they became _that_ , and I can't let myself...”

“No, no,” Arya shook her head, “that's stupid, you're nothing like them.”

“Yes I am,” Sansa said, talking over Arya's denial, “I'm just like them, the difference is I never got to hold power like they did, mine was always _borrowed_ , **temporary** , I had to be careful with it to keep it.” Sansa summoned the Console to her hand, “I don't have to rely on others for it now, but I will try, every day to remember _why_ I wanted power in the first place, and I will try to remain as I am, but if I don't-”

“You will, you _did_.”

“ _If I_ _ **don't**_ , Arya.”

Arya wanted to hate her sister, but the fear in her eyes was real, so she nodded instead and promised: “if you don't.”

“Thank you.”

Arya rolled her eyes and pulled away, “eat your broth, you have to talk to our parents in the morning, and they are **not** happy.”

“Any advice?” Sansa asked, returning her attention to the bowl in her hands.

“I think you need to tell them the whole truth, they need to know, we can't let doubt creep in, our family can't be divided again.”

Sansa nodded, she'd been wondering how long she'd be able to get away with her Green Seer explanation.

“Sansa,” Arya said several minutes later, as Sansa was reaching the bottom of her bowl, “There's something I need to tell you, about... after I died.”

* * *

'Something is wrong,' Catelyn thought as soon as she saw her daughters.

Beside her, her husband shifted ever so slightly, and she knew he'd seen it too.

Sansa was pale, tired still, but awake. She carried herself with authority, with steel in her spine.

Arya was grim and steady, a step behind and beside her sister.

There was something dangerous in her gaze that hadn't been there the day before. Something haunted and knowing. It was like Sansa after her Green Dreams had started.

Robb, Theon and Jon share a look of alarm, but not confusion, which irritates Cat, that she and Ned are the last to know.

Apart from Bran, who was only in the Solar because he'd climbed in through the window just moments before, determined to be part of whatever was going on.

The door was closed and locked, guards stationed at the ends of the hallway outside, ensuring no one draws close to the room.

Not even Luwin was allowed near.

“I think it's time you tell us what is going on,” Ned said with a solemn tone. Sansa dipped her head in agreement and sat, Arya taking a guarding position by her shoulder.

Cat would find it irritatingly amusing, her youngest playing at guard, but there is something... _cold_ in her countenance that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

“When I told you of my Green Dreams,” Sansa began, “I told you what I thought you would understand, after all, even relegated to children's bedtime stories, Green Dreams are something that has been heard of. It is **known**.”

“You say that as if you weren't having Green Dreams,” Ned cut in, leaning forward. “Yet your vision of 'the mockingbird' stealing from 'the stag' was... true.”

“Green Dreams are mere visions, dreams which happen to be true,” Sansa replied, “what happened to me,” Arya touched her back lightly, “to _us_ , is something else entirely.”

Cat felt ice slide down her back at the confirmation.

“It began... two weeks from now?” Sansa looked to the side, her fingers moving ever so slightly as she seemed to count something.

“A week and a half,” Arya corrected, and Sansa nodded her thanks.

“A week and a half from now, when father set out to deal with a deserter from the Night's Watch.”

Sansa spoke, her voice growing hoarse as she wove a tale of betrayal in the South, Arya cutting in here and there to fill in some gaps. Ned and Cat exchange worried glances when the phrase 'Tyrion told me later' cropped up repeatedly as Sansa told them of events neither sister had been present for.

Both parents felt their horror grow with each new revelation, each new torment the girls had been put through. Though they wished desperately to speak out, to stop the story and deny its truth, a damning fact kept them quite but for gasps of distress: Sansa had been correct about Baelish.

Bran felt sick, wishing he hadn't joined them after all, and when Robb reached over to pull him into a hug, he didn't resist.

As the story drew to Robb's war, Sansa paused and looked to Theon. Curious, everyone else looked to him too.

“I...” Theon began, then stopped, swallowing heavily several times like he was trying to keep down bile. He nodded, hesitantly, fearfully.

“I'm sorry,” Sansa said softly, and continued, and even as she illustrated Theon's betrayal, everyone in the room got the feeling she was lessening the truth of it. Theon curled in on himself, shame growing on his features, but he didn't leave, and he didn't cover his ears.

Robb looked at his friend horrified, betrayal stabbing deep.

“ _Robb!_ ” He startled at Sansa's tone of rebuke, and realised he'd begun to stand. She motioned him to sit, and he did, though slowly.

Robb would admit only to himself that he felt vindicated as Sansa spoke once more of Theon being tortured.

But it was quickly wiped away at the sheer horror of what followed, as their family was betrayed and betrayed and betrayed. As Sansa's voice turned distant, her gaze focused on nothing while she related her captivity, like she was telling the story of someone else.

Arya stepped closer to her, a hand on her back, offering silent support.

Every time they thought the worst of it was over – Theon had done the right thing and helped Sansa escape, she reunited with Jon at the Wall – 'the worst' kept going – Arya had been blinded and hunted by one of the Faceless Men, and Jon had been killed and resurrected, and the White Walkers were coming, and Daenerys Targaryen had three dragons and a crazy streak as wide as Westeros, and Cersei was too power mad to help fight the dead and had destroyed house Tyrell for their gold after blowing most of them up along side the Sept of Baelor.

But the dead had been defeated, the White Walkers destroyed, in theory, for good.

“So Daenerys took what remained of her armies and went South, to King's Landing,” Sansa said, her body slumping as though she'd run out of will to tell the story.

“I went separately,” Arya said, picking up the tale, “to take the last name off my list. But it didn't work out that way. I think something happened with the fleets, because the numbers seemed wrong, but... Daenerys went mad, the people surrendered and... she just... attacked, the whole city burned, the buildings crumbled...” Arya shook her head, trying to erase what she'd seen, “for all her talk of being a kind ruler and 'breaking the wheel'... there was no mercy, just _fire and blood_ and fear that corrupted the dying souls, trapped them in the moment of their deaths.”

“How can you know this?” Ned asked, afraid of the answer, “how can you know this _now_?”

“Because,” Sansa said, leaning into Arya bodily for support, exhaustion clear on her face, “Spring did not come just because the Night King was dead-”

“It couldn't,” Arya interrupted, “the White Walkers and their army of Wights stained the land with corruption, life couldn't _grow_.”

“-so I did what I had to do to bring it back,” Sansa went on, “I asked the Three-eyed Raven, and he told me how, my life for the lives of what remained of my people.”

“It cleansed the corruption, freed the souls who were causing the rot which stopped the cycle of life and death from moving,” Arya explained as she shifted to take Sansa's weight more easily.

“And in the place beyond death, something spoke to me, a God of some kind, though I don't know which one. We made a deal, it didn't _like_ the way our future ended up, the idea of a different ending appealed to it, so it gave me the chance to try again, to get a 'better ending'.”

Cat barely dared to ask, “in exchange for what?”

“Entertainment, mostly,” Sansa said wryly. “The Being occasionally has tasks for me, obstacles and... the Being calls them Dungeons, they are hidden places with hidden treasures and monsters of _its_ creation for me to... overcome.”

“This sounds like madness,” Ned whispered, distress clear on his face. This was beyond him, something he couldn't see, or fight, or protect his family from.

Sansa raised her hand in the air and motioned like she was grabbing something.

An embroidery hoop made of white wood holding an empty cloth and a single needle appeared in her grip. As she turned it, held it out for her mother to take, her parents noticed a short chain holding a thin white rod to the hoop.

“What _is_ this?”

“It's called a Console,” Sansa explained, “it is... a gift from the Being, to help me with my main task of changing the Fate of our family.”

“How is Arya here?” Cat asked, afraid to learn the answer.

“I died in King's Landing,” Arya said bluntly, “and my God brought me home to Winterfell, to help my sister with her task, because it helps them.”

“ _Your_ God?” Ned looked confused, their family worshipped both the Seven and the Old Gods.

“The Many-Faced God, The Stranger, Death,” Arya explained. “The wars over the years created too much violent death, violent death causes corruption in the Cycle, it traps souls, becomes an illness in the land. It stops life from beginning.”

“Why is that a bad thing for _death_?” Jon asked.

“Death exists only where first there is life,” Arya said, and for a brief few seconds, Jon couldn't see his younger sister, but a woman grown, a stranger.

* * *

Sansa had been taken back to her room, the children gone to talk amongst themselves, all (even ~~especially~~ Bran) sworn to secrecy.

Cat stared at a spot on the wall, Ned doing the same beside her.

“It's madness,” she whispered. From the corner of her eye she saw her husband nod, dumbfounded. “It can't be possible.”

“How...” Ned's voice was shaky, “how could we allow such things to happen?”

Cat looked down to the embroidery hoop in her hands. Innocuous and blank.

And yet her daughter had produced it from thin air. She'd been right about Petyr stealing from the crown.

“What do we do Ned?”

“I... don't know,” he admitted, “this... _magic_ , it's beyond me, I don't... the pack survives.”

He looked to her, his gaze searching, needing her support as much as she needed his.

“The pack survives,” he said again, stronger, surer.

“ _Family_ , duty, honour,” Cat replied, then, “the pack survives.”

They would trust their daughters, heed their advice.

**_Winter was coming._ **

* * *

Robb shoved Theon against a wall, in an out of the way corridor where people didn't usually walk. Jon watched on, silently, a very pale Bran by his side.

“You don't betray me,” Robb said, looking Theon in the eye. “You _don't_ betray me.”

“I won't,” Theon said, “not this time, not ever again.”

Robb's pulled Theon from the wall, into his embrace, and Theon felt Robb shake. Or maybe that was him.

“Please,” Robb whispered, begged.

“I swear,” Theon promised into Robb's neck as he returned the shaking, frightened hug.

* * *

When the young lady Sansa had turned mad, the inhabitants of Winterfell had done their best to accommodate the girl. She hadn't quite turned shrieking, dreaming-while-awake mad, just sort of odd, and the Stark family had always been good and honourable, so trying to accommodate the young lady had seemed the least they could do.

When the young lady Sansa returned after vanishing on an impossibly fast horse for two days, the people of Winterfell were shocked, and worried. They waited with baited breath for her return while a rumour began to circle that the lady Sansa was in direct service of one of the Gods.

 _Which_ God, no one knew, or if they did, they weren't talking.

Having seen the change in the young lady Sansa, the people of Winterfell were quicker on the uptake when her sister, the young lady Arya arrived too early in the morning asking for broth for her sister, who slept the entire day and most of the night.

“It felt like standing beside an ill omen meant for someone else,” one of the cooks said.

Most of the family spent the day after young lady Sansa's return closed up in lord Stark's solar, and afterwards a strange sombreness seeped into Winterfell.

While lady Sansa had returned to her room to sleep again, the young lord Robb and the lord's ward Theon had been seen _maybe_ fighting. The little lord Bran walked around slightly dazed and pale, frowning in the direction of the roofs he loved to climb.

The bastard Snow didn't seem to be affected as much by whatever had been said in the solar, still quiet and watchful and hard working.

But the young lady Arya...

Once she'd seen her sister to her room, she'd made her way down to the training yards and picked up one of the lighter, smaller swords.

Just two days before she'd been begging to learn the blade, but now she danced with it in slow steady motions, and though she fumbled slightly in her motions, it was in a way that sent the chill of Winter itself down Rodrik's back.

He'd trained dozens upon dozens of men, from fresh faced lads to old soldiers recovering from an injury. He knew the difference between a babe who was only just learning to hold a blade, and a soldier who was **re** learning their weapon.

The word was out before the sun slipped below the horizon.

The second daughter Stark had become God-touched too, and it was somehow far more terrifying than the first.

* * *

Rickon didn't understand what was going on with his family, they were all sad suddenly. He didn't know why, though his mother tried to explain that bad things were happening elsewhere.

Grown ups were just weird he guessed.

On the good side of things, his family had told him that he was going to get a dog soon.

* * *

Cat paused on her way to the training yards, Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel's whispering huddle catching her eye. She eased herself closer, trying to stay out of their line of sight.

“And I'm telling you we should,” Jeyne whispered in a hiss.

“But she might not _like_ that!” Beth responded, frowning heavily. “You've never been kind to Arya, an-”

“I _know_ that!” Jeyne, looked like she was about to stomp her foot, and perhaps cry. “And with how... _weird_ they've been, I know getting between them would be the worst mistake I could possibly make, but I want my _friend_ back, and if this is what I have to do... I have to at least _try_! So, you can either come with me while we ask, or you can go back to your sewing _alone_.”

Beth wavered for a moment, but as Catelyn watched, the younger girl seemed to steel her resolve and nodded to Jeyne. “Alright, we'll ask.”

Cat stepped out into view, walking as though she hadn't stopped to spy on her eldest daughter's friends.

“Good morning girls.”

Both of them seemed to flinch, startled, before turning to her, both dropping into a well practised curtsy.

“Good morning lady Stark.”

“What are you girls doing by the training yards, don't you have lessons with Septa Mordane soon?”

They shared a look and Jeyne stepped forward slightly, “yes my lady, but we thought perhaps, if Sansa... _and_ Arya were alright with it, that we might join them for their... archery practice this morning.”

That made Cat pause. She'd been on her way to observe her daughters' archery practise herself, but...

“I was just on my way to do the same,” Cat said with a smile, a plan forming in her mind, “shall we walk together?”

“Yes lady Stark,” the two girls said, not quite in sync.

* * *

Maester Luwin was watching them from the side as Sansa knocked another arrow. Her shoulder had healed faster than it should have, and though it baffled him, Luwin had cleared her to resume her archery training.

“So?” Arya asked quietly as Sansa drew and released, her arrow joining the cluster near the bullseye.

“I wouldn't notice if I wasn't... 'looking' for it,” she replied, repeating her actions. “It's subtle, just a bit of steadying, shifting my aim ever so slightly. Minor corrections to things which would have held me back for a while.”

“But none of your other Abilities do that?” Arya asked, and Sansa shook her head as she knocked another arrow.

“Not that I've noticed,” the arrow joined the cluster, “but it certainly explains what 'improves all combat abilities' means.”

Arya gave a small huff of a laugh. “How did you even _get_ 'The Warlock' epithet?”

“No clue,” Sansa said, frowning as she realised her quiver was empty, “it just happened shortly after I reached the Dreadfort, scared me half to death too. There I was, sneaking about, and my Console just start pinging like it was _trying_ to draw attention to me.”

As Sansa stepped away to retrieve her arrows from the swinging target, Arya frowned, something niggling in the back of her mind.

“How... long after you left here would you say it happened?”

Sansa hummed, considering for a moment before she answered.

“Huh,” Arya said, “that's weird.”

Sansa paused, and turned to her sister, suddenly suspicious. “What do you know?”

Arya took a sudden interest in the upper levels of the nearby buildings.

“Arya?” Sansa stalked to her sister's side, “ _what did you do?_ ”

Arya gave her a cheeky, slightly guilty grin. “So, that's roughly about the time I was talking to father in the training yard, and I may have... said some things, loudly where people could hear, about you 'serving the Gods'?”

“It was _you_ ,” Sansa swatted playfully at her sister, “ _you_ scared me _so_ bad! Don't laugh, it's _not funny_!” Arya pressed her lips together as she tried to stifle her chuckles.

Sansa huffed, exasperated, then her eyes caught on something behind Arya, and the younger girl turned to look. Their mother was making her way towards them, Beth Cassel and Jeyne Poole in tow.

Arya felt Sansa shift slightly, and she understood suddenly why Sansa had been so quick to leave her two friends behind. Arya had heard about their fates third hand.

“Mother,” Arya called out, so her sister didn't have to, “what brings you out here?”

“I thought I might join you for your archery,” their mother said, and only the years of practise with people far better at deception allowed either sister to see the faint touch of insecurity and uncertainty in their mother's stance.

“To keep us company?” Arya asked, “or should we get you an arm guard?”

Sansa made a small squeak of surprise when their mother said 'arm guard,' stiffening when Jeyne stepped forward to say 'if it's alright, might we join as well?'

“If you think you can handle it,” Arya said, keeping her attention on Sansa in case her sister wanted the other girls far away from her. “Archery is not 'for the weak of arm'.”

“Well,” Beth said with sudden bravado, “we'll never make any kind of progress with it if we don't even _try_.”

“Alright,” Arya allowed, giving a thin, scary grin. “I'll teach you.”

“Arya,” the warning came not from Sansa, but their mother, and Arya dropped her scary face into a more amiable expression.

“Come on, arm guards are this way,” Arya said, leading the trio away. Back over her shoulder she called, “Sansa, you keep practising, you're almost there.”

* * *

Lord Arryn sighed as his former ward, and current king, threw back another goblet of wine.

“Sire, please,” he tried, the rest of the small council shifting awkwardly in their seats as the king slammed the goblet onto the table. “We need to appoint a new master of coin.”

“And who do you suggest?” Robert's face was red, though whether from the wine or anger, no one could say. “A Lannister? Stannis? How about a bloody member of the Iron Bank? What I want to know is, how no one noticed anything!”

“There was no reason to suspect-” Varys tried, but was cut off by the king.

“No reason!?” Robert roared, “we're 6 bloody _million_ in debt! How did we get that deep?! Surely some kind of alarm bells should have been ringing!?”

The silence that followed was terse, and regretfully, Jon brought out a few pages filled with numbers, and handed them to the king.

“What are these?” Robert asked as he took them.

“Confirmed expenditures of yours for the last three months,” Jon said with a grim, and damning frown. “That's an average, as far as we can tell, and this,” he handed over another page, “is the estimate of actual spending based on it, compared with Baelish's ledgers.”

Robert looked over the pages, slowly working through the calculations, and while the numbers drew further and further from those in Baelish's ledgers, the real costs were still damning. His scowled deepened, and he felt a growing need to _hit_ something.

He'd never been cut out for this, he knew, in the back of his mind, he'd never been the right choice for _king_ , but Ned would never have taken it, and he wouldn't have trusted anyone else. It had been _Robert's_ rebellion after all, becoming king had been the only logical conclusion.

“What do we do?” Robert asked, surprising his small council.

“Stannis can be trusted,” Varys said quietly, “he's done well managing Dragonstone, despite its... poor natural resources, and we are not in debt to _him_.”

Jon nodded, “I agree, you may not like it, but if we don't take drastic action, you may soon find _yourself_ on the receiving end of a rebellion.”

Robert threw the papers back onto the table in disgust and stood.

“Take care of it,” he said, and left them to figure it all out.

He stalked down the hallways, in the direction of his chambers, determined to get the problem of the debt out of his mind, but as he passed an open window, the faint sound of clanging metal found his ear. He slowed, a nostalgic smile creeping onto his face.

He changed directions and made for the training yards, recalling his need to hit something.

* * *

Late into the evening, once Sansa had woken from her second sleep, Sansa and Arya set out several items on Sansa's work table. Arya darted to the door to make sure it was locked, both girls startling as someone knocked. After checking with Sansa, Arya opened the door.

“Father, mother, hello,” she said, stepping aside to let them in.

Their parents exchanged glances when Arya locked the door behind them. Their father looked around the room curiously.

“Mother, father,” Sansa greeted them, “I was just about to try making some blueprints, what can we do for you?”

“Blueprints?” Their mother asked.

“Yes, for crafting,” Sansa said, “it's a magical cheat that lets me skip the actual... 'making things' step.”

Her parents exchanged another glance, this one even more confused than the first.

“Never mind, what can we do for you?” Sansa tried again.

“We'd like your advice on something,” their father began, almost reluctantly drawing a letter from his pocket. “We received this from King's landing an hour ago. They need help repaying the Crown's debt, and were hoping we, the North, might be able to lend a bit of aid.”

“We don't have the money to pay the Crown's debt,” Sansa said, frowning.

“True,” their mother said, “but I seem to recall you and Arya talking about money some weeks ago, as if you could... produce it.”

“Ah, yes,” Sansa nodded, “I can create raw materials in... cloth form,” her parents exchanged their most confused glance yet, and Sansa hid a smile, “my powers are based primarily around sewing, a joke of the Being. The materials can be changed though, the metals can be melted down into normal ingots and things.”

“But the economy's stability is still an issue,” Arya cut in, “as Sansa said, we can't suddenly introduce a huge amount of coin into circulation without repercussions... although...”

“Arya?” Sansa prompted as her sister trailed off.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Arya walked to the work table, popping herself onto the edge to sit. “The problem with creating currency is both introducing it, and explaining where it came from, yeah?”

“Yeeess?” Sansa said slowly, trying to figure out where her sister was going.

“But if we _don't_ introduce it to circulation, there's no issue.” Arya grinned and Sansa's brows crept up her forehead as she began to follow. “The Iron Bank won't care where the money comes from, as long as they get _paid_.”

“But we don't _have_ 3 million in gold,” their father cut in, “it would beggar the North to pay even half that debt. Robert, well, someone in the South would begin to ask questions. Would certainly question our charity.”

“Not if we make it a trade,” their mother spoke up. “We need men on the wall, workers, if we demand the Crown fulfil their obligations to the Watch in exchange for paying off even part of their debt to the Iron Bank...”

“Surely,” Sansa added, “we have mines of our own that have... recently found some wealth that we could spare in exchange.”

Their father looked at the three of them, wide eyed at how quickly the three women had formed a solid idea, and Arya leaned over with a teasing grin to pat his arm in comfort.

“Don't worry, we scare us too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The problem with doing well, is that I give you all standards I'm worried I can't meet. I know there was some reservations with adding Arya, hopefully it went okay though? Pacing was a bit wonky this week, sorry.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Arya go on a trip to pick up a new sewing needle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the complete chapter I wanted to get out, but it has literally been over a month, and I made a promise, and this was a decent enough place to cut the chapter, I'm so sorry I tried to write a campaign chapter again.  
> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of past non-consensual sex (re- Sansa's second marriage)

Horses made soft nickering sounds and shifted in place as a dozen of Winterfell's guards finished preparations. A cart was double checked, the supplies it held were triple checked. Standing nearby, the Stark family said their goodbyes.

“-and you should make sure to check on the Loom, just in case it tips over,” Sansa told her mother, “it should be fine, but it's spitting out a lot of fabric at the moment. And don't forget your archery practice, but don't over do it-”

“ _Sansa_ ,” her mother said with an exasperated voice and a bemused smile. “We will be fine, I'm more worried about the two of you. Are you sure you shouldn't take more guards?”

Sansa ducked her head, slightly embarrassed, but chuckled at herself. Her parents were taking the recent reveals well, suspiciously well, but for the time being Sansa had more than enough on her plate so she chose to just accept her luck in the matter.

“We're already taking more guards than we need, and Arya and I should be fine, we've met all the requirements for the dungeon, so it should be... doable.”

Her mother's eyebrows raised, and her father frowned.

“I would rather you have said 'safe' or 'easy',” he said.

Arya gave a quiet huff of laughter, “well, not to brag,” she said with easy confidence and a grin.

“Just wish we were going with you,” Jon said, but Arya shook her head.

“If Sansa's estimates are right, you lot would _never_ fit through the entrance.”

“Do you have enough arrows?” Their father asked, even though their supplies contained a hundred spare arrows, which was more than either girl could carry.

“We should have plenty,” Sansa said, “and we can always leave the dungeon and come back if we need to make more.”

“Plus I have _my_ new knife,” Arya's cocky grin turned wolfish as she patted her dagger. It had taken the remaining Tokens, but the finely crafted Valyrian steel dagger had been worth it, both sisters agreed.

Their mother sighed in despair, “be _careful_ , please!” Both girls could see how much she wanted to protest further.

“We will,” Sansa promised, and Arya nodded in agreement. Jory Cassel called out to the Starks, letting them know the party was ready to go, and with several quick hugs, Sansa and Arya joined the men.

Some of the guards eyed her a little nervously, so Sansa smiled kindly and told them “don't worry, I'll stay to normal speeds today.”

Not that she could go faster than normal speeds, as she was using a normal saddle and tack.

With a final wave, the group began to move, trotting off down the road, Sansa leading the way.

The Stark family loitered a few minutes more, until they could no longer see the group.

“I hate this,” Catelyn whispered to her husband, and Ned nodded in agreement.

“They still aren't telling us everything, are they?” He asked, looking first to his wife, then to his children.

“No,” Catelyn agreed, “they aren't.”

Ned sighed, his gaze lingering on Jon as he berated himself for his hypocrisy. He wanted to demand more answers but... the truth wasn't always easy to give.

* * *

The short trip was slower going than the sisters were used to, with the cart to accommodate, but it would be easier in the long run for the group to camp by the entrance to the Golden Citadel then to race back and forth between the dungeon and Winterfell each day.

They made it to the woods, Sansa, Arya, Jory and half their guards dismounted for the hour long walk to the entrance. The other guards remained with the cart until the exact location of the campsite was selected, and the easiest path to transport their equipment found.

The woods were relatively quite as the group walked, once more following Sansa's lead, the occasional sounds of birds and small creatures scurrying about adding to the background noise of the group's footsteps.

“Does this one have a clue,” Arya asked her sister, instead of the question that had nagged at her since she'd Returned. “The dungeon, I mean.”

“Yes,” Sansa nodded, and fiddled with her Console before handing it over, happily ignoring the curious and confused looks the men gave them.

Arya skimmed the text.

  
  


/                Golden Citadel:               \  
/      Two sisters let their arrows fly     \  
/     to kill the warriors from on high,     \  
|      Beneath the bough into the hive      |  
\ against the Swarm they must survive. /  
\  Amidst the chaos a choice to make /  
\   but whose side will sisters take?  /

  
  


“Sweetest _Crown_ ,” she murmured, recalling the name of the quest, “Golden _Citadel_. Are we walking into what I think we're walking into?”

Sansa shrugged, sidestepping a hole in the soft leaf covered ground. “It's entirely possible, bees do have queens after all.”

“Fantastic,” Arya said, sarcasm in her tone. She read the words again, “we'll definitely need to shoot things, but...”

“There may be room for diplomacy,” Sansa said, following Arya's train of thought. “The question is: where and with whom.”

“We should probably have a plan of some kind but...” Arya shook her head, “not enough information to make it.”

“With respect my ladies,” Jory interrupted, “sending a scout to retrieve that information for you-”

“I'm sorry Jory,” Sansa cut him off, “but neither you, nor your men will fit through the entrance.” She did her best to appear as apologetic as possible, “but scouting is a sound idea, we should move slowly once we enter the Citadel, stay hidden, see what we can learn before we engage with _anything_.”

Jory frowned, worry clear on his face. The sisters could see he wanted to protest, but was holding himself back. Behind them they heard two of the guards in a whispered conversation, not as quiet as they thought they were.

“-God business, I'll bet.”

Arya and Sansa shared at look just out of the corners of their eyes, and Sansa nodded.

Smirking slightly, Arya called back, “something like that Edmond.”

The guard who'd spoken made a choked off noise of surprise and awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Yes, my lady... sorry my lady.”

While the sisters bit back a pair of chuckles, Jory threw a judgemental frown over his shoulder at the soldier.

* * *

The trees opened into a clearing. The side they entered on went directly into a slow sloping bowl like dip in the ground, leading to a two metre high rock face. The far rocky rise swept around the clearing, getting gradually smaller until it melded back into the leaf littered floor.

It was almost as if someone had take a circular chunk out of a small hill, just off centre.

The only tree in the clearing was  old and sagging, its largest branch arch over a darker line of rocks. A crack, so thin Sansa wasn't sure she and Arya _would_ be able to squeeze through it after all.

Judging by the look Jory gave her, he wasn't sure either.

“Are you sure this is it?” Arya asked, eyebrow raised dubiously. Sansa closed her eyes and focused, her Long Seeking skittering across the area.

“I'm sure,” she confirmed with a nod.

“Alright,” Arya said, and her tone let Sansa know that while her sister doubted her, she was prepared to trust Sansa as far as the location went.

Jory sent the men out to try and scout a better camp location and the girls set about selecting their gear.

“I think I should go in first,” Arya said as she tapped the hilt of her new dagger. At Sansa's enquiring look she explained, “this might be a ranged fight, but if there's something waiting just inside, I'm both faster and more accurate with the bow, and also, I have melee weapons, you don't.”

Sansa sighed, “that's true,” she said reluctantly.

Jory opened his mouth to say something, likely another protest, but he cut himself off and sighed instead, clearly irritated.

“Sorry Jory,” Sansa said, sounding genuinely apologetic, “We'll be relying on you and the men to guard the entrance, and our spare supplies.”

Jory gave her a look that let Sansa know that _he_ knew how much bullshit that was.

Arya finished sorting her pack so it was as thin as possible front to back, mentally counting off the supplies: water pouch, rations, emergency bandages and salve, spare arrow stack, spare water pouch, measuring rope.

Unlike Sansa's usual satchel, which sat at hip height, hold on by a strap that went over one shoulder, the packs they were taking for the dungeon exploration were proper packs intended to be worn on the back.

They could hold more, and the sisters weren't sure how long they'd be in the dungeon for, even for a scouting mission. With the supplies they'd need to take, and the Bobbins they'd be picking up, more carrying space had seemed a prudent idea.

Sansa had brought several of the Bobbins with her, along with the pre-cut Chupacapybara leather and her shears. She hadn't told Arya why, and other than the fact it needed the Piercing Needle to complete, Arya couldn't figure out what her sister would want with an apron.

At least, Arya _thought_ the finished 'Inventory' item would look like an apron, if a little short, but she wasn't as familiar with patterns of that nature as her sister.

* * *

“I don't like how dark it is in there,” Arya said, her face close to the schism in the stone wall, “wielding a torch won't be easy, or fun.” She pulled back and turned to her sister, “any Abilities for this?”

“What? Light with out a torch?” Sansa frowned, ideas already being sorted and discarded.

“Yeah, something hands-free,” Arya nodded, “like some kind of... floating lantern that... moves with us?”

“Firelight or sunlight?” Sansa asked, summoning her Console to her. “Sunlight would let is see further, but it would also make us easier to spot, although if I used the dappled light from under the trees, that might work better... and if I make the light small, and multiple, like a swarm of fireflies, we wouldn't have to worry about blocking the light so much.”

Arya smirked in amusement as Sansa strode out of the clearing and back under the tree cover to embroider the new Ability, not even waiting for Arya to disagree. She just hoped her sister remembered to assign the Ability to _her_ as well.

* * *

  
  


/             Dancing Lights             \  
/       _ **Solar Type 2**_ \  
| A series of tiny orbs of _**light**_ float |  
\   around the caster, and can be   /  
\   Directed by the caster's will.   /

  
  


 

/             Dancing Lights             \  
/       _ **Solar Type 1**_ \  
| A series of tiny orbs of _**light**_ float |  
\   around the caster, and can be   /  
\   Directed by the caster's will.   /

 

  
  


* * *

Arya slid into the crack in the stone, knife held in front of her, the small firefly like light orbs flitting ahead of them into the crevasse.

The rock seemed to shift slightly as she sidled through the gap, moving just enough to ease her way, but not enough for it to be comfortable. Her bag, held behind her in her free hand spun ever so slightly as it bumped an uneven patch of wall, turning so its profile widened and Arya startled as it became stuck.

“Are you alright?” Sansa asked, having heard the light gasp that escaped her sister, but not seeing what caused it.

“Yeah,” Arya replied, backing up just far enough to free her bag, or more specifically, the bow and quivers strapped to it. “Bag's stuck.”

“My ladies?” Jory's voice sounded far more distant than it should have.

“We're alright!” Sansa called back, “the tunnel's deep, but it hasn't widened yet.”

“Please be careful!”

“We will!” The sisters called out together.

“Poor Jory,” Sansa said, slight amusement in her voice.

“What, having us in his charge,” Arya asked, "for whatever that's worth?”

“Mhm,” Sansa hummed in confirmation.

“He'd probably be less put out if you were still pretending to be a proper lady,” Arya said as she continued forward, “don't think I haven't noticed you _indulging_ the rumour that you're a crazy, god-touched witch.”

Sansa didn't scoff in amusement like Arya thought she would have.

“I...” Sansa began, before cutting herself off, rethinking her words. “Noble families are always reluctant to have mad folk marry in.”

Arya tried to turn so she could see her sister's face, the cramped space making the motion awkward. There was a naked vulnerability on Sansa's face, the haunted look returned to her eyes.

“I've been married twice,” Sansa whispered, like she was losing her nerve to tell, “I never want a man to own me, to touch me that way again, if I have to act mad...”

“I'll slit any man's throat that tries,” Arya promised, because it was all she could do. Her time with Gendry had been wonderful, but that had been her choice. Sansa hadn't chosen.

She'd survived.

The sisters let the matter settle, like candle smoke drifting to the floor, and Arya turned back to the unknown depths of the crevasse.

“Mrgh,” Arya stopped, trying to fix her breathing.

“Arya?”

“It's nothing.”

There was a long pause.

“Arya, are you _stuck_?”

“No!” Arya denied vehemently, “I'm just... not as mobile as I'd like.”

Sansa snorted, in an incredibly un-ladylike manner.

“Oh shush,” Arya bit out as she figured out how her body had become wedged, and slipped herself free. “See? It's fine.”

Sansa chuckled a bit as she replied, “perhaps, on this occasion, our lack of armour is a good thing, plate mail would have had us stuck for sure.”

“That's true,” Arya agreed, continuing on, “actually, I've been meaning to ask you, the fabrics, you can make clothes out of Valyrian steel now.”

“Well, I can't _sew_ them, yet, that's why we're here,” Sansa said, following along. “But if you mean cloth armour made of Valyrian steel, it might be possible,  _I_ actually keep meaning to ask _you_ to do some tests with the metal cloths, puncture resistance, or whatever it's called.”

“I can do that when we get – hang on, there's an opening ahead.”

The sisters fell silent as the shuffled their way forward, their Dancing Lights floating out into the open space beyond. And it _was **open**_.

A small ledge sprouted from the internal cliff face, protruding to give them just enough space to stand before falling away into an implausibly deep, yawning chasm. They sent their lights down, and down, and down, so far down the lights vanished into the darkness, dissolving beyond the reach of their Ability.

Then Sansa looked up, and found the darkness continued upwards.

Their lights couldn't find the ceiling either, nor a far side to the abyss.

“What _is_ this place?” Arya's voice didn't echo in the darkness, swallowed up almost immediately by the void.

“No place that exists in Westeros,” Sansa replied, whispering. “Where do we go from here?”

The pair looked around, and Arya reached to pat her sister's arm in the dark, “is that?”

“Is what?” Sansa frowned as her sister pointed to _something_ beyond her field of vision.

“Turn the lights off for a second,” Arya said, extinguishing her own remaining orbs even as she tried to direct Sansa's face in the right direction. Sansa doused her lights and stared into the inky darkness.

“I don't see anything,” she admitted.

“Give it a second,” Arya whispered back. So Sansa waited, letting her eyes drift over the area Arya seemed to want her to look at.

A small patch of maybe light appeared, and Sansa's eyes darted to it, only for it to disappear. She looked away, and it returned. She looked at it, and it was gone. She looked away, and there it was, always in the same place.

“It won't let me look at it?” Sansa said with a confused frown.

“Huh,” Arya frowned as well, not that either could see in the almost pitch blackness of the area. “Maybe it's like, have you ever noticed how some stars sort of vanish when you look at them?”

“What, the really faint ones,” Sansa gave an unseen shrug, “I guess?”

“Maybe the light is like that,” Arya unknowingly copied her sister and shrugged, “I wonder why they do that anyway.”

“Maybe Maester Luwin knows, we can ask when we get back.”

Arya hummed in agreement, “maybe, do you think that's where we're supposed to go?”

“Well, I don't see anything else that might be worth investigating, so it's certainly as good a place to start as any,” Sansa said, then frowned, “do you think I should add this area to the map? I think I should add it to the map.”

Arya snorted and summoned her dancing lights, sending them out to their assumed destination, hoping to find a way to it, “you can, not sure how you're going to manage to encompass all-” she made a general gesture to the implausibly large void, “-that.”

Sansa conjured her lights as well, “I was just going to do the le...dge...” Sansa squinted at the hovering lights, and Arya turned her attention back to her sister a the odd mid-word pause.

“What?”

Sansa startled and hefted her bag, rummaging through it to pull out one of their measuring ropes. Slipping one arm through the bag straps to free her hands, she held out the rope and brought two of her lights down to the distance markers.

Trying to keep the set distance in her mind, she directed all her lights out, trying to keep them at equal distance.

“Those two are too close, that one's too far,” Arya said as she realised what her sister was doing.

Sansa sighed in disappointment, “I figured, but it seemed worth the effort, to find out if I could 'train' pre-existing Abilities to do other things.”

“Maybe you can,” Arya shrugged, "just not this one."

Sansa grumbled quietly as she put her measuring rope back, “long way it is then.” She pulled out a Bobbin of light, and began trying to slip her bag back on her shoulder.

“Here,” Arya said, taking the bag.

“Thanks,” Sansa gave her a smile, and Arya rolled her eyes in response, watching as her sister conjured her Console and began stitching. She put down a measured blanket stitch in Basic Thread, then added small Dornish Knot stitches of light above each spoke.

“You should colour the tens,” Arya said, “maybe the fives as well.”

Sansa looked at her, a surprised look on her face, “that's a really good idea,” she admitted readily, “I should have thought of that.”

Arya snickered at the slight pout, “you political types, so busy in your heads you forget the simple things.”

Sansa opened her mouth to argue, then remembered that she'd forgotten several important things, including preparations for the inevitable food shortage and-

“Oh no!”

“What?” Arya tensed, regretting her awkward hold on the two bags hindering her knife.

“I just realised... the reason we though Jon Arryn was killed so long, we thought it was because he knew about Cersei's affair, that the Baratheon children were all Lannister bastards.”

“He... did he? Wait, how did father find out?”

“I think he was back tracking Lord Arryn's last movements,” Sansa scrambled through her memory, beside her, her sister did the same.

“Shit,” Arya swore, “I don't really remember, I was so busy with my sword lessons...”

“Sword? I thought you dancing...” Sansa squinted at her sister's far too innocent look. “Shit.”

Arya startled as her sister swore.

“Arya, most of what I know, most of what _we_ know, we learned _after the fact_ , I don't actually know who has what information, I'm not even sure all of _my_ information is correct. Arya, what if I'm _wrong_ about something?!”

“We'll make a _list_ ,” Arya said, forcing calmness into her voice, trying to overwrite her sister's growing doubt. “What we know, what we suspect, we'll find ways to weasel out information, our own network of whispers. We _will_ figure things out.”

She could see Sansa relax.

“Thank you, Arya,” Sansa smiled, it was grateful but sad and worn, tired. “I honestly don't know how I've been keeping myself together with out you.”

“Because we're Starks, there's Wolves inside us that are stronger than we realise.”

The sisters shared a moment, before getting back to their task. Sansa finished adding lines of red around every tenth mark, and green around the fifth. The Ability was submitted and accepted.

“Photometer?” Arya said with a dubious look and a scoff, “sounds Valyrian.”

Sansa giggled slightly and sent her lights out, measuring what she could around the entrance, stitching in her map quickly while Arya turned back to her lights, strung out towards the maybe light.

“I think I see some ledges,” she told her sister as Sansa finished the entryway portion of the map.

“How far?”

Arya turned back with a snort, “ _you've_ got the measuring lights.”

“Right,” Sansa shook her head at her own folly and quickly switched her Console's page to her Ability list, stitching the 'Copy/Paste' sigil's first half on her new 'Photometer' Ability, before swapping to Arya's page to stitch the second half.

“Now _you've_ got the measuring lights,” Sansa said, watching as Arya stretched her lights out towards the next ledge over, and down. The sisters looked along the wall as the lights illuminated a path of large, uneven ledges along the wall for twenty metres before disappearing into the dark beyond the reach of their lights.

Sansa switched her map to side view, and stitched what she could quickly before Arya gave Sansa back her bag, and sheathed her knife. The sisters shouldered their packs and mentally prepared for the amount of climbing they had ahead of them.

As Arya turned to lower herself down to the next platform she gave Sansa a once over and snorted.

“What?”

“No, just... good thing you're actually wearing trousers today.”

“Ha ha,” Sansa said sarcastically as her sister dropped to the next platform. She 'tsk'ed as she realised just how deep the drop was, and how difficult it would be to get back up. When Arya stopped halfway along the ledge and turned back to her with an expression that read 'do you need some help?' Sansa huffed and began her careful descent.

The edges of the skirt-trousers bunched slightly, catching on small outcroppings in the stone.

She thought of Daenerys and her handmaiden and their leggings and leg revealing tunic dresses.

'Damn it,' Sansa thought bitterly as her feet touched down on the next ledge, 'I'm going to have to take another fashion queue from them _.'_

Arya frowned in confusion at Sansa's suddenly sour mood, but said nothing as she helped her sister climb up to the next ledge.

* * *

With the two of them working together, they managed to cross the twenty metres of ledges, and the next, and the additional 60 metres of ledges beyond that in only an hour and a half. The cavern wall slowly curving around as they went, though the exact curvature as Sansa sewed it onto her top-down-view map was only her best guess.

The final ledge was much wider than the ones they'd had to climb along, which both young women were thankful for, the closeness to the dark void having gotten more than a little nerve racking as they went, and they'd discovered another reason it was good the boys hadn't joined them.

More than one stretch of ledge had been crumbling, the sisters having to go one at a time, throwing their bags across to limit the weight.

Thankfully, there had only been one near miss as Sansa had stumbled on one such ledge, her only thought as she reflexively dug her Valyrian steel Manicure into the stone wall had been: “Curse you Lemon Cakes, how could you betray me this way?!”

Which she would never be admitting out loud.

The final ledge was bathed in a mild, soft golden glow seeping from a large hole in the cavern wall.

The reason, the sisters discovered, that the light was so dull, was because the hole was covered in a _very_ thin layer of wax.

Arya used her knife to cut out a hole just large enough for them to fit through, slipping through knife first, followed by both their bags with Sansa in the rear.

After a short whispered back and forth, Sansa and Arya managed to combine Arya's knife with Sansa's Ignite Ability to heat the edges of the thin wax chunk Arya had cut out and tack it back in place to hide the hole.

Arya grimaced as they looked around the dead-end corridor they found themselves in, an inexplicable golden glow suffusing the air in a way that eliminated shadows and made their depth perception unreliable.

“I don't care for this light,” she muttered to Sansa, who hummed in agreement, flicking a hand to direct their Dancing Lights along the tunnel, the non-coloured orbs all but vanishing in the ambient light.

“I'm not a fan of all this wax,” Sansa said, gesturing to the wax that seemed to coat the entire tunnel, walls, ceiling and floor. She sniffed delicately, “I would have thought the air in a tunnel would bee more... stale...”

“Probably is,” Arya replied, shuffling her gear so her arrow quiver was where she liked it, and she could pull her bow free for use. “The smell of the wax is pretty strong, not sure if that's why I can barely smell the honey, or if it's just that far away.”

Sansa frowned as she copied her sister, shouldering her pack and readying her bow and quiver, “should we be hearing buzzing, do you think? This... _is_ a bee hive...”

“Sleeping?” Arya suggested and took a careful step forward, “mind your footing, and douse the lights when you're not measuring the tunnels.”

“Right,” Sansa nodded and stitched quickly.

* * *

It was an hour, and not long after Sansa mentioned how badly Jory must have been worrying, that they finally heard buzzing.

The tone was wrong, somehow, both alike and not at all like swarms of flies. Far deeper than they'd imagined a bee hive to sound.

The sisters shared a look, both recalling the agreement to 'scout first.'

Arya grinned and cocked her head in the direction of the buzzing, and Sansa nodded, wiping her hands on her skirt before re-gripping her bow, and arrow nocked, but un-drawn on her string.

Cautiously, the sisters split, putting their backs to opposite walls as they skirted along the corridor. The buzzing grew louder, almost uncomfortably so as they located the source.

Bees, larger than either sister, but perhaps slightly smaller than Sansa when she was a fully grown woman. The tunnel the sisters were in turned suddenly and opened into a large cavern, two dozen bees zipping about the area, with another dozen already on the ground.

Fighting, the sisters realised as one bee twisted itself and released a small flurry of blurred barbs at another bee, which failed to evade and hit the ground a moment later with a thud-crunch.

Sansa wasn't certain how the bees were determining who was an enemy, but she thought it might have been by colour. Difficult to make out in the flat golden glow of the tunnels and cavern, the giant bees seemed to have three different shades in the bands that coloured their bodies.

Arya caught her eye, and gestured with her head back into the tunnel. Sansa nodded in understanding and stepped back to retreat back around the corner.

Her foot slipped on the waxy surface and she let out an involuntary yelp as she fell backwards, dropping her bow to try and steady herself against the wall.

Her hand slapped the wall, but found no purchase, the Valyrian nails that materialised reflexively slid through the wax coating like it wasn't even there, doing nothing to slow her descent.

Sansa landed with a strangled yell as the air was pushed from her lungs, her back arching awkwardly as the backpack kept her upper back from the ground directly, though it gave her just enough leeway to stop her head from smacking into the firm wax at full speed.

Arya swore and pulled her arrow back, loosing it at the closest incoming bee as she stepped away from her wall to reach her sister.

The bee, which had been drawn by Sansa's noise, took an arrow to the eye about as well as any creature, and dropped to the floor dead.

“Can you get up?” Arya called, dropping any pretence of stealth as the fighting swarm of bees turned to them, several darting forward.

“Ye-” Sansa twisted her body so she could roll to her feet, trying to draw in a full breath even as she scrambled for her dropped bow, “yeah.”

As Arya released several arrows to thin the on coming swarm, Sansa righted herself, allowing The Warlock's assistance to line up her first shot, but the bee swerved and her arrow only managed to pierce through a leg. Her second shot hit the mark and finished the bee off.

More carefully than before, Sansa stepped back, Arya moving with her as they retreated into the tunnel, the giant bees forced to group together to follow. The proximity seemed to remind several that they were enemies, and they resumed their attacks on each other.

Step by careful step, now more than ever aware of how slick the floor really was, Arya and Sansa retreated, the bees following them down the tunnel, the buzz of their wings became like a physical pressure against their ears.

Several of the bees released a volley of barbs from their rears, and Arya almost slipped as she dodged them hitting the wall and sliding down to take a knee for her next shot. Sansa tried to keep calm as the bees drew closer, blocking the tunnel back to the cavern. Despite her training and the assistance of The Warlock, several of her arrows went wide when the bees jerked unexpectedly, leaving her arrows to fly uselessly pass, or lodge ineffectively in legs or sides where they bees didn't seem to notice but to get angrier.

One bee twisted and, instead of the expected spray of barbs, a glob of clear liquid splashed against the ground when Sansa had been just a second before. In her haste to dodge, she found her self once more on the ground, trying to scramble right.

A bee closed in on her and she twisted, trying to shoot from the ground. Somehow she managed to catch the bee in the eye and its body dropped. Sansa yelped again and rolled out of the way as its body crashed down almost on top of her.

She managed to roll to her knees and stumble to her feet, turning to face the next bee.

It took her several panicked seconds to realise the tunnel had gone quite, all the bees laying dead on the tunnel floor.

“Sansa?”

“Uhhuh?”

“What the hells?”

“I... am so glad that you are this version of you,” Sansa blurted out as she stood, shaking slightly. Arya turned from her scan of the corpses, frowning when she saw her sister.

“Are you alright? That was probably very scary for you.”

Sansa nodded, “it... was more overwhelming than the last dungeon monster I had to fight... how can... there was so _many_ of them, but there _wasn't_ , and... how do you do it?”

Arya shrugged, only half-sure she knew what her sister was trying to say. “I'm made for this, trained for this... maybe I've just forgotten how to be afraid of my own death.” She huffed a laugh and grinned, wincing internally when she saw the horror on Sansa's face.

“It...” Arya shook her head, unsure what to say to comfort her sister. She tried changing the subject, “are you alright? That fall looked like it hurt.”

“Which one?” Sansa frowned for a second, before a shaky smile crossed her face, “a bit bruised maybe... and I think I may have broken some things...”

With an almost guilty look on her face, Sansa shrugged off her back pack, and sat it down so she could go through it. Seconds later, wearing a grimace, she pulled one of her arrow bundles free. Several shafts were broken.

“Sorry,” Sansa offered quietly, but Arya shook her head, no sign of being upset or annoyed.

“We'll just have to be more careful from here on out.” Arya turned back to the trail of dead bees to give her sister the illusion of privacy to hide her embarrassment in. After a moment, Arya spoke again. “So, do we call it an evening and make the long trek back to camp, or keep going now that we know what we're getting into?”

“I'd like to do a few things before we move on either way,” Sansa said, fixing her bag and shouldering her bow, “map measurements of the cavern, see if I can add the bees to the Bestiary so we can see where they are, and how many there are, oh, and I'd like to try looting the corpses, plus we should pick up our arrows and-”

“Alright,” Arya cut in, she gave the tunnel a considering look, “start with the Bestiary entries? That way we can stay in the tunnel a little longer, better terrain for us.” She held her hands up and made a squashing motion, recalling how clumped together the bees had gotten in their attempts at following.

“Right,” Sansa nodded, and went to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun eye facts: the point of visual focus, what is basically the centre of your eye/field of vision, has less light receptors than the rest of your eye, this is to stop you from (decrease your chances of) accidentally blinding yourself if you look at something bright, like a fire at night, so things look 'duller' when you look directly at them.  
> This is not an immunity to light damage, please do not look directly at the sun, use this knowledge to play peek-a-boo with faint stars at night instead.  
> Also: France doesn't exist in this world, so the French Knot is now the Dornish Knot stitch. (Much like the pistil stitch, but without the stem - up through cloth, wrap thread around needle, back down as close to upward stitch as possible.)


End file.
